Just Inappropriate

When you're done crying, punch them!

2013-04-01T23:21:00.000-05:00

I have stopped saying awkward prayers and singing beautiful songs for Adrian. Now he likes me to tell him stories of my childhood mischief. I am starting to run out of tales but tonight I remembered a particularly awesome one.

He's awkward because of the sex statue- I'm smiling because of the sex statue

Mary: Okay, this is a really good story, are you ready? It's about this girl named Alicia. She needed to THINK ABOUT THINGS and she was not very nice.

We had freshmen Health together; I was fourteen. She sat in front of me and would pass papers back our row. That's where our romance began. Now, I was pretty nice. Nice to everyone. I loved everyone. Except Alicia, that girl was mean.

I'm the violent Fourteen year old on the left

Adrian: You should love everyone.

Mary: Yeah, yeah I know. Anyways. I'm going to say a bad word because it's important for the story, okay?

Adrian: Ummm, I don't knooooow...?

Mary: It's okay, I know you'll never say them so you can hear them, I promise.

Mary: I was giggling with my friends one day, when out of nowhere, Alicia wanted to tango with the MFlo.

Adrian: Who's M Flo?

Mary: That's me.

Adrian: Ah okay, keep going.

Mary: Alicia had this pitbull look on her face and leaned over my desk and growled "I'm going to beat your ass."

Adrian: SHE SAID A BAD WORD?!?!?

Mary: Adrian, YES! She punched girls in the face for wearing lip gloss, of course she said bad words.

I didn't even know what to say. I didn't tell anyone because I was so embarrassed that this was happening. I decided that the best thing to do was to just keep on being nice.

Adrian: Good job, Mom. (high five hand in the air)

Mary: WRONG. The next day I told her that I liked her K Mart hoodie and she laughed in my face and told me, "My cousin had to pull me off this girl in front of our house yesterday because I was beating her ass. My mom was beside me just cheering me on. Dumb girl." Why did she tell me that, other than to just make me more scared than I already was? She was a foot shorter than me, I outweighed her by thirty pounds, and I had people that enjoyed my company. She clearly had the short end of the stick but I was TERRIFIED.

She hardly ever showed up for class but the thought of her being there scared me so much that I never wanted to go. I dreaded Health every single day for weeks.

Adrian: Wait, she was a BULLY. Why didn't you tell your parents or your teacher? They would keep her out of school so you could learn about healthy foods.

Mary: Number 1. Health is more about sex and drugs and not food. Number 2. In my day, son, we all got bullied and we didn't cry about it on stage on "The Voice". We cried ourselves to sleep tonight and read a lot of Sweet Valley High.

Adrian: Ohhhh okay. I am SO SORRY, Mama.

Mary: Oh, IT'S OKAY. Just wait until you hear the end of this story. Ain't nobody sorry for me.

Adrian: Oh my gah I'm so excited. Did she get nice?

Mary: .......

Adrian: ...............?

Mary: Okay, anyways.

So she has her head down on her desk one day as I sat down. I kept quiet and didn't laugh and didn't call any attention to myself. But the Teacher called me out about something and I can't turn off this ridiculousness. I popped off something funny and everyone laughed and Alicia turned around and looked at me.

She gave me a good long look that guaranteed she was going to punch me in the cheekbone within 48 hours.

I walked out of the class and past her and one of her friends. Her friend turned around to look at me and as I walked by Alicia pushed me into the pit. Her friend yelled "You're gonna get your ass beat TOMORROW".

Adrian: So you didn't go to school, right?

Mary: I finally had to swallow my pride and tell my parents. I told them because I didn't want to go school. I don't take hits well, as ya know. My Dad surprised me. He held my hand while I was crying and then told me to come to the living room.

He told me to show him my best fist.

"You can't hold your fist like that, Marigold, you'll break your fingers. Now, punch my hand"

I punched his hand.

"Harder, follow through.These are the places you need to hit. Use your elbow if you need to."

I punched his hand until I sweaty. I had stopped crying. Then he sat me down.

"No one is EVER going to beat you up. You are strong and you are smart. She is a coward, she's stupid, and she's WEAK. You're going to let her start the fight, because we don't go looking for a fight. When she starts it, YOU FINISH IT. YOU KNOCK HER DOWN SO HARD THAT SHE CAN'T GET BACK UP AND HIT YOU AGAIN. YOU WON'T EVEN FEEL THE PAIN BECAUSE YOU WILL BE SO ANGRY AND ONLY THINKING. ABOUT. FINISHING."

My dad had me so pumped up about myself that I WANTED Alicia to start a fight. I wanted it so bad that I couldn't WAIT to go to school the next day.

Adrian: Wow, that was really bad of Grandpa. You shouldn't have listened to him. The best thing to do is to ignore someone when they're being mean.

Mary: That works until they throw a punch. You have my full permission to bust some ninja moves on someone if they hit you first. I will always back you up if you defend yourself. 100%

Adrian: Okay, so did you beat her butt?

Mary: No, Adrian. I beat her ASS into the Westborough concrete.

(I kid, I kid!)

I walked into class. She was there. It was on. Let's do some snapping and you can be a Shark because I clearly am a Jet. She passed the homework back and whispered something about beating me up today. Then laughed mockingly at what she probably assumed was my fear. Then she looked at my face. Mary's fear is gone, Oh Shallow Ghetto School Skipper.

I looked like I was from Compton at that moment.

"Do it, Alicia. Let's do it today. You've been saying this for weeks and I clearly can't convince you otherwise. So punch me. And then I swear to God, I will BEAT your ASS."

....And she never talked to me again. She never showed up for class and I never heard anything from her friends.

That's what my Dad knew. He knew if he only gave me the confidence to stand up to her that she would never actually hit me. I took away her power.

So the moral of the story is: Be a good puncher but never actually do it.

Adrian: Okay, let me punch your hand.

Mary: Good! Do it as hard as you can.

He punched me and it hurt. Really bad. I thought that was something you could do with your kids and it didn't hurt. I was wrong. That shit hurt real bad. So he's good to face all the bullies off the hard streets of Edmond, Oklahoma.

Thanks, Dad!

Three fighters, warming up for our next scuffle

The irrational waffletastrophe of 2013

2013-02-16T19:09:00.001-06:00

It has been over a month since my last post and I haven't gotten a single complaint.

I hate all of you for not giving in to my playing hard to get. Having said that, here's some words.

I have been trying to turn myself into a skinny runner. That involves eating greek yogurt and making sure everyone sees me shaking up my protein shake at work. It also involves running, which sucks the fun out of my life while simultaneously making me feel like an Olympian. I have been training for a 5k for 8 weeks and trading off eating what I want and eating nothing I want. So I have basically lost 4 lbs and I need to add a couple more.

Husband with one T and I stayed in Lawton last night. I forgot Ambien, and haven't slept without Ambien for a single night in over a year. I laid in that hard hotel bed from 10-2 while changing positions and begging a mythical being to make my eyes sleepy. If there is a God, he said "No, I will only let you sleep for 7 minutes and will make that sleep contain dreams of adopting a baby water buffalo."

I worried about that baby water buffalo until 8 AM when I finally accepted defeat and rolled out of bed, thinking about continental breakfast.

I looked in the mirror and ran my fingers through my hair, noticing it looked perfect since I had laid awake all night, thinking about my nonexistent baby water buffalo that may be in danger if I don't fall asleep and save his little life.

Mat had told me about the continental breakfast and I knew there was a waffle making machine. I started adding up calories in my head and trying to calculate if I could justify a waffle. The huge black bags under my eyes answered the question. Eat the waffle, Mary, you're ugly and grumpy.

I think I brushed my teeth but I can't be entirely sure. I put on yesterday's clothes because I hadn't wanted to pack a bag, so I just...didn't. Mat had to go to work and looked perfect and bright-eyed, which made me grumpier.

We walk into the continental breakfast and Mat shows me the waffle machine, knowing how excited I was and hoping the waffle would medicate the grump. It was a rather complicated contraption, with different pictures of the steps involved in making the waffle.I was a little too excited and hungry for the calorie-fest so I skimmed over the pictures and just looked at the word push. I pushed on the lever, wondering what was going to come out. I kept pushing, and nothing happened. So I kept pushing, I just wanted to damn waffle and I wasn't feeling particularly problem solvey.

The lever snapped off in my hand and I realized that pancake batter was pumping and pouring all over the counter. It was dripping off of the counter and onto my pants. The explosion was taking over the biscuit bin and the milk jug, dripping off the counter in front of the bagel toaster. My hands were completely covered in gooey yellow liquid. It felt like I was staring at the counter for 20 minutes without actually doing anything. I only snapped back to life when a lady that looked like Meatloaf appeared beside me and said "Aw man I was wanting a waffle, too. Scoop some of that off the counter into this here cup for me."

I hated her so much. I hated every piece of her face and every sound she made. How dare her be concerned about her waffle? I was the one who hadn't slept, broke the waffle machine, and now didn't get to eat breakfast without feeling shame!

Because of the post-traumatic stress, I can't remember if I called out for help or if it was Mat or Meatloaf. The Hispanic continental breakfast employee ran out screaming and overreacting and trying to push the circular trash can against the rectangular counter. I know I am the one who made waffle batter explosion, but I felt superior in my smartness in knowing I had not jumped to such an an illogical action. It had been my plan all along to just let the machine empty itself completely and then kind of make a choice after that.

Meatloaf watched in utter broken heartedness as Maria carried away the batter-soaked napkins, utensils, food, and trash cans. Did I mention I hated her? I still hadn't said anything to anyone, and the incident had to have been happening for at least 2 minutes by this point. She ended up getting frustrated and leaving to go back to her hotel room full of ugly people that were waiting on their waffles that would never come.

I slowly crept away and got myself some Golden Grahams. As I was eating them, Mat unfortunately decided to speak.

Mat: Did you look at the instructional pictures? I think you were supposed to push towards the machine instead of towards the counter.

Mary: Let's just pretend like it was the machine's fault because I'm really unable to muster an apology for Maria or Meatloaf right now.

Mat: Absolutely, Baby. That machine was so fucked up.

Mary: I hate Meatloaf. And Stripes.

Mat: Wait, who is Stripes?

Stripes was the lady with the stripes who wouldn't stop saying the word waffle.

"Ummmm, are they going to bring out more waffle batter? There doesn't seem to be anymore in there"
"Oh, good morning kids. We're waiting on waffles. MA'AM! Can you stop cleaning and get more waffle batter?"
"Oh! I'm sorry. Yes, I can wait on more waffles, it;s just that my kids are waiting to be fed. They, you know, want waffles"
"Can I help you clean up the waffle mess so you can concentrate on just going to get more waffle stuff?"
"Hi, are you waiting on waffles too?hahaha us too. I think she's bringing out more waffle stuff. "
"Apparently, I just heard someone broke the waffle machine. I wonder why they didn't clean it up? Now she's having to clean it up instead of getting more waffles!"

I walked over to Stripes and the woman she was talking to.

"IT WAS ME, OKAY? I BROKE THE MACHINE. I BROKE THE MACHINE AND I DIDN'T CLEAN IT UP AND NOW I'M TOO SCARED TO EVEN TRY AGAIN"

Stripes: How did you break it? What did you do to it?

I walked off and chugged my coffee. I was the outcast of the Lawton La Quinta Inn and it didn't feel great. Now I know how homosexuals and gothic people must have felt in high school.

We finished our non-delicious breakfast and were on our way out. I suddenly felt compelled to thank Maria, as I never felt any judgment from her and she had had to deal with Stripes and Meatloaf.

I caressed Maria's arm and whispered, "I'm sorry I broke the waffle machine. And I'm sorry I didn't clean it up. This is like the wor-"

Stripes walked over with her little stupid grandkid with the stupid glasses and interrupted my apologetic whispers. "It's OKAY. She explained to us how to properly operate the waffle machine so everything is OKAY now and we can get our waffles!"

I turned to Mat and said "tell her to say 'waffle' one. more. time..."

In closing, I now know it was the Jesus of Pants that Fit that allowed me to not have a waffle this morning. He was assisted by the Angel of You Have to Run Tomorrow so Stop Eating Pastries You Fat Ass.

Shame, vomit, and interest rates

2013-01-03T23:38:00.000-06:00

"I need to stop drinking this vodka so I don't pee on my stairs tonight" never crossed my mind on this night in 2006 as I was sitting at my favorite local establishment, Cock of the Walk. Where everyone knows your name and has had sex with all your friends.

Nowadays, I'm usually at home getting pregnant on Friday nights, and I don't understand how I thought Cock of the Walk plans weren't refusable. A simple, "I have to work until 8 o'clock tonight and again in the morning at 7:45 in the morning so I think I'll pass, but thank you for the invitation, Kendal!" seems like it would have been met with an understanding nod and wave. But at that time in my life I was on the prowl to get me a husband with one T and everyone knows the only way to find one is at a dingy bar that can't be bothered to install a bathroom stall door that closes. (also, when you are waiting in the line for the women's bathroom you get a champion's view of Oklahoma City urinal wiener every time the men's bathroom door is opened)

Three hours into the night, I was having so much fun that not even my friend sleeping in a trash can was going to get me in a cab. I probably spent most of the night sitting at a table with strangers, begging them to love me. I really don't remember much from the night, and when I look at pictures all I recognize is shame and failure. And cavities, since my mouth is wide open in 90% of them.

I was so surprised when the lights came on and I still hadn't found my next ex-husband. That means it was 2am. That means I had about 5 hours until I had to be at work.

How did I get home that night? I don't know. But it was someone that decided not to make sure I got into my bed without puking on it first.

I crawled out of the throw up nest at 7, because I needed a shower and I was going to look presentable and open some motherfucking checking accounts. I did not feel well. I did not look well. I was only 23 so one would think I could take a licking and keep on ticking, right?

It was one of the worst days of my life. Honestly. The time was going by so slowly and I had to stay there until four. I laid my head down on my desk and tried to take slow sips of water. I couldn't eat. Thankfully, the lobby of a bank doesn't get too busy in the morning on Saturdays because most people got schnockered the night before and are enjoying sleeping in. At about 10:30 I had just wrapped up a little prayer session with Mr. Jesus and He wasn't complying. My phone rang to let me know there was a woman here to see me to open up 17 accounts and talk about every other bank option we have.

I shook her hand and introduced myself. She had on a decorative scarf and a wool skirt suit and her fake red hair hit her shoulders in a nice little Saturday morning flip. She needed to die.

Suzie: I'd like to talk about some options for my accounts. I was thinking about moving $10,000 from my savings into a ;fkas;dfoi0980nndsfd-090-;a)OQ.

Mary: Excuse me, what? Never mind, I'll be right back.

I went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on my wrists. Please. Get me through this

Mary: Okay, hi! I'm back! Sounds like you need a Titanic account and that will only take about 40 seconds to sign and then you can go! yay!

Suzie: Oh, well I'm not in a hurry, Dear. Let's talk more about the intricate details of the features and benefits of the Mon-

Mary: BLAAAAAAAAAEEEEEEEEEEEGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

I had just picked up my trash can from under the desk and was violently vomiting into it. It wasn't quick or subtle. There were long periods of dry heaving and crying, my forehead resting against the plastic edge of the trashcan. Suzie sat there quietly. She could have at least held my hair back. Or even better, WALKED AWAY AND WENT HOME. Every few seconds I could hear her clear her throat or say "oh dear" under her breath.

I sat back up, black tears overflowing from my bloodshot eyes, snot and spit gathered in the corner of my mouth.

Mary: I'm- I'm sorry- I'll just go clean myself up.

Suzie: Oh don't even worry about it, it's those Bradford Pear trees blooming, they've got everyone feeling under the weather.

I couldn't believe it. I wasn't rubbing my nose or giving a little sneezy. Lemon/lime/vodka/vomit stench was filling up my office and she was ready to keep talking about sassy personalized deposit slips. She jumped right back into business talk, while I sat there shocked and in disbelief. I couldn't even get this woman out of my office by nearly hurling on her.

I stopped her incessant rambling and carried my trash can to the bathroom, where I cleaned up as best as I could and cried on the floor for three minutes. I kept thinking she would get mad about having to wait and would leave. I peeked outside the door and she was still there, making notes about all her different options. I was going to have to be brutal.

Mary: Ma'am. Hi, yeah, I'm back. Um. I feel really sick and can't continue helping you any more. In fact, I need you to leave. I really am sorry but there's just no way I can talk to you or listen to you talk anymore. You'll have to come back on Monday.

She seemed completely SHOCKED that I was too sick to continue, but not angry at all. She told me they needed to let me go home and give me a sick day every once in a while. Bless her heart. She has never seen a hungover and possibly still drunk person in her 60 something years of living.

I was able to get a hold of a co-worker to come in and take over for me. She even stopped and got me some coffee. (Thanks Lauren!)

Moral of the story is...well...whatever...look at the pictures. Don't drink and work.

Yay! Friends! Fun!

Calm down, 2006 Mary

Close your mouth. Go home!

1:54 AM. Clearly.

My 2012 in inappropriate Facebook statuses

2013-01-02T10:05:00.000-06:00

January

"Mom, stop crying and eat your pretzel" Adrian (while watching the preview for the movie that has the whales stuck under the ice)

"When I turn 18, I want a wife that knows how to dance. Oh wait, you won't care because you'll be dead by then" Adrian

"Mary, you make me so happy. I am like dog who can't stop wag his little tail" Customer in a fedora

"I wish Ellis love me just a little bit less, so she wouldn't cry when I went to the bathroom" Adrian

This morning, Ellis was being a terrorist and wanted to eat a bag of frozen broccoli. When she about to throw a fit, I agreed to let her eat one piece of it on the way to school to prove that she would hate it. She ate that entire piece of freezer burned broccoli and smiled at me the whole way to school like, "Whutchu know about that"

February

"Why is that man staring at you? Can't he tell he's too late by the two KIDS SITTING IN THE BACK OF THE CAR?!" Adrian (he yelled the last part) (he thinks everyone wants to marry me)

Mat: I don't know why you have an irrational fear of going to jail. You're never in the place or company of anyone committing any sort of crime.
Mary: I know, but anything can happen. What if some 19 year old wants you to be her husband so she frames me for murder and I get locked up forever?
Mat: That's ridiculous. I could never land a 19 year old.

I'm reading "The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo" and I don't understand the hype. It's awful. I would rather read an information phamplet on wasp sex or a roth IRA.

I hurt my neck today and Mat has been waiting on me all day. For one moment, Adrian noticed him messing with the TV and said "um, shouldn't you be focused on your wife right now?"

God, I am getting so old. I keep slippers beside my bed and plan on eating two tums before I consume thin mints. Lame.

March

I just stirred my coffee cup with a paperclip because I didn't want to get up to get a spoon.

"My credit is only bad because I got addicted to pain pills around this time last year" Customer

"Look at this guy, trying to be cool and play the drums on his steering wheel for you... SHE'S MARRIED AND DOESN'T WANT TO PAY ATTENTION TO YOU!" Adrian

Just waiting for Mat to fall asleep deeply enough that I can sneak on the AC without getting caught...

"I'm going to be really cautious and make sure I don't step in dog shit" Said neither of my children, ever.

April

"Well, isn't she just a huge and ugly genius" Adrian referring to Ursula in the Little Mermaid

If there's a stage version of The Little Mermaid, I picture King Triton being exceptionally hot.

A 'steamed and salted' potato isn't 20% as good as it sounds. It tastes like I'm chewing on a thought.

'...and don't call me Shirley" jokes will always be funny. Always.

Adrian has a soccer game at 7:45 AM tomorrow. Why did I have unprotected sex 8 years ago?

May

If I ever have a nanny, she'll be 70 with a hunchback and a mustache.

This "age me" app is really funny! I wish there was a "young me" app. I would use it on every single picture and not tell anyone.

Watch out LA! We're gonna be better than you and beat you some! #awkwardatsportsstatuses

I've taken an ambien, but Steve Blake really looks like a penis.

Adrian is alone in the hot tub with two giant people sitting on top of each other. Has no idea why or how that could be awkward.

June

"Ellis, don't poop your pants." "But I waaaaaaaaaaaaaant to"

Ugh, stop parenting so loud.

I don't know why Emily gets so butt hurt over her Bachelors calling her a trophy wife. Isn't that what we all want?

Well, I hated "Brave". And Adrian's gunea pig died and I don't know how to spell guinea. It's been a rough day.

Magic Mike? I'd rather have Magic Mexidips.

July

I was just trying to coax Adrian through 2 tablespoons of Nasty Nyquil when I realized he probably doesn't know what it means that I was yelling "JUST TAKE IT LIKE A SHOT GO GO GO GO"

"You're so weird. I would never cry at work. Except when I am really hungover." My anonymous friend (It was Kendal)

After boycotting Chik Fil A, I can't help but be thankful that cookie cake has never spoken out against gay marriage.

I always get flipped off and I never know what I did. I need a bumper sticker that says, "WHHYYYYYYYY?"

"If I ever won one thousand dollars, I would buy us a big house like the guy who owns Hobby Lobby and loves Jesus" Adrian

August

Dear Summer, you make everyone stinky and ugly. No one looks good with a bikini and a sweatstache. Take direction from your friend, Fall, who makes everyone smell like pumpkins and snickers ice cream and promotes cuteness in scarves and non-sweaty hairlines. Love, Mary with heat splotches on her neck.

"Bye my best friend" Nice little girl at Ellis's school "YOU'RE NOT MY BEST FRIEND" Ellis

"I love you but the next time you buy calorie-free cranberry juice, we're going to have serious issues. I'll take 20 calories for a smidgen less taste of shit" My husband

"I make the ladies laugh. While they're laughing and distracted, I escape" Adrian

Went for a bike ride. Didn't get thrown in the back of a van. Fist pump.

September

I use three different pens on Adrian's reading log so his teacher thinks I actually fill it out every day instead of the night before it's due.

Ellis really sucks at the Dougie.

HD ain't great for Britney. And Leopard Pants Girl, you never got bullied. I HATE SOB STORIES GET OFF THE STAAAAAAAAAAGE.

For about 3 seconds, I forgot we were at work and accidentally rubbed Mat's pecs.

Veterinary offices are harder upsellers than most of my co-workers.

October

Ellis is composing a new song in the tub. It appears the working title is "You're not my best friend Today is Tuesday Don't sit by me"

Ohhh scarves. Thank you for not being selective and looking cute on everyone.

Adrian has its and it's on his spelling test this week. 75% of my friends don't know the distinction. We're a family of elitist spellers.

Is it controlling and creepy that I've already picked out and learned the songs I plan on singing at my kid's weddings?

Ellis has become obsessed with the word "maybe" but never uses it correctly and it sounds like she's making fun of me. "What'd you do at school today?" "Maybe I colored. Maybe I played with my friends"

November

I spilled coffee in my front seat and Ellis threw up in my backseat. So basically, my car smells like every Sunday morning in 2006.

Sometimes, I click on ads just because they're bad and I feel sorry for the employee that made them. It's a sympathy click so they at least get one and can keep their jobs. Changing the world with my saintlikeness.

I love you all! Except those of you that I just deleted because you're less pleasant than a wasp with herpes. Where are the speeches?I'm ready to make sweet political love to myself.

My mother took me to the doctor today and ask I was checking out I notice a girl from HS, who was looking like a supermodel, walk in to the lobby. I had a 2 day old ponytail and a swollen face with black circles under my eyes and a giant t shirt on so I texted my mother "Do NOT talk to ____ when you see her!" I had just hit send when I heard my mom's voice from the lobby, "Do you remember me, I'm Mary's mom! She'll be out in a minute, you two should say hi!" Friendly Mom fail.

If something ever happens to me, don't let the police go through my text messages. My legacy will never be the same.

December

Adrian: Mama has a song, Ellis has a song, I don't have a song...Mat: That's okay buddy I don't have a song either. Adrian: what? yes you do, Daddy, it's Big Pimpin.

Difference between my kids: Adrian donated two full bags of toys to charity. We asked Ellis to donate a dollar tree dirty Easter bunny given to her by a stranger and she said "Um.
No. That's my best friend"
Receptionist on the phone just now:
"Yes, please have him call Mary when he has a chance"
"Ummm, are you going to spell that for me because there are like 100 different ways to spell that"
"I didn't even know that! Sorry about that, sure, it's M-A-R-Y!"
"Oh, so not like Christmas"
"Nope, that would be the ONE other way to spell it."
#idontcareifyoucantspelljustbuystufffromme

Adrian has lost 3 coats now. How do I punish him? Clearly my parenting method of communication and reasoning actually sucks and maybe I need to start rubbing his face in the gravel?

Toys R Us is gross.

Bullied Chivalry

2012-12-19T23:29:00.001-06:00

He's Adrian. He generally doesn't do wrong. He's nice to humans, animals, insects, and his favorite Jesus. He thinks prayers and sending handmade cards will fix any social or economical problem. He considers being nice to mean people as a valid attempt to rock the universe in his favor and eliminate his cavities. He pretends to get grossed out when Daddy with one T kisses me but I see the corners of his mouth secretly beaming; he gets exponential happiness from viewing any form of love. He can draw better than your kid and spell better than your whole family.

He is genuinely worried about never finding a wife and has been since he was about five. That's a long three years of disappointment in the opposite sex. It's hard to tell him that females will get better when the only improvement he's had in prospective wives since Kindergarten is that they stopped shitting their pants and started growing awkward and ugly adult teeth. It's difficult to imagine your perfect vision of a spouse in a first grader with dirty shoelaces and a no-belt-tuck. No wonder a few years ago he asked if he could just marry his sister.

He was at his Nana's this past weekend and I missed him, like always. When he came back on Sunday, I hugged him too tight and smelled his hair like I was a creepy orangutan mom searching for bugs. He always smells of an illogical and condescending old man when he comes back. As much as I hate his Grandpa's cologne, it still smells like Adrian coming home.

I was a few miles away when I got the text message:

by the way, he was crying hysterically when we picked him up on friday. something about boys being mean to him on the bus

I don't have a "boys will be boys" attitude. I will rip out a little kid's liver with my nubbins of fingernails if they make Adrian cry.

Me: Hey, buddy. Did something happen on the bus on Friday?

Adrian: well...yeah....(looks ashamed and sad)

Me: Well...tell me who made you sad, honey, and where do they live.

Adrian: It was Todd. He...just...wasn't saying very nice...things..to me.

Me: TODD WITH THE AFRO?

Adrian: well. yeah.

Me: How could this have happened? Doesn't he realize how stupid and awful he is, and that you're awesome and articulate?

Adrian: NO! He doesn't realize that at all. He said I'm ugly and I'll never have a girlfriend and I don't draw good.

....

.....

..............

I pulled my car into the McDonalds parking lot a few blocks from our house, and slammed it into park.

"He. Said. WHAT."

Adrian has that look on his that he wish he could take back what he just said. Like the way my face probably looks when at the exact moment I open the back door and I realize I've already set the alarm. He couldn't take those words back. I couldn't undo the opening of the door. Now the alarm was going to blare and I was about to yank out an afro.

I tried to get more information about the context of this little verbal scuffle with the feral kid, but he wasn't forthcoming with more details. He knew he had added enough fuel to the fire to make sure I took care of any of his problems, like the amazing helicopter mom I am.

He assures me that the daycare director talked to Todd and told his parents and all was well and happy, and could we please just get happy meals and listen to Michael Buble sing about Christmas?

Monday afternoon I trotted into his daycare to pick him up. I had not thought much about the heartless bullying incident until I turned the corner and saw Buckwheat Bully rolling a ball back and forth with another small child. Not sure why, but I immediately assumed the other child was in on the ploy to destroy my perfect offspring.

Adrian had spotted me and had run back to another room to get his backpack. I walked right up to the assholes and stood between them. I stopped their poorly-rolled ball with my high heel.

"Hello Todd"

He looked surprised I knew his name.

"Uh. Hey." He tried to awkwardly grab the ball under my heel. I pushed down harder on the rubber and intensified my stare. I turned slowly to face the other mongrel.

"How are you BOYS today? Being Nice? Making good decisions? hmmm?"

My voice was dripping with hatred of their souls. By now the Teacher has taken notice that I'm bullying some elementary schoolers and comes to stop me. Adrian also caught the last little exchange between myself and the little fuckhead.

"Yeah. I'm being nice"

"Well, YOU BETTER BE GLAD." I then did the white girl version of snapping a Z as the Teacher was tugging me into a room.

Teacher: What is going on????

Me: What's going on??? What's going on??? Those boys SAID things to Adrian on the bus. Things that weren't NICE. He was bawling his eyes out!

Hearing the words come out of my mouth, I now know I am overreacting to a minor infraction and that Miss Holly is going to think I'm batshit crazy.

Miss Holly turns to Adrian. "What did they say? I'm sorry I wasn't here on Friday, did the other teachers talk to them?"

Adrian: Yes. But the other kid is nice, Mom. He and I read books together. I think he's probably really confused why you just took his ball with your shoe and stared at his heart.

I turn to Miss Holly and start to try to explain-

Mary: I'm thinking I just-

Miss Holly: AH HELL NO. NO ONE MAKES MY ADRIAN CRY.

I saw a fury grow in her that I thought only a Mother could nurture and give birth to. The way she stormed off with her clipboard and the red in her cheeks made me know that I didn't have to worry about this godless child ruffling my little chicken's feathers again anytime soon.

The director of the daycare catches me on the way out. She asks if Adrian had told me what happened, and I just told her that I knew Todd was being mean and he was upset. She kind of coyly asked if I had learned what had started the altercation. I said that if I had, I don't remember because my eyes started bleeding hatred from my heart and I was shell-shocked.

Daycare director: Well...ha...um....there was a girl that Todd was being to. And...Adrian kind of likes this girl, I think. Maybe he has a crush, I don't know. But Todd said something about her being ugly and Adrian said... 'You're wrong. She's very sexy'....

....

......

Me: ........

Director: So then Todd and all his friends were making fun of Adrian for using the word sexy.

Adrian is eight. As awful and embarrassing as it is that he used that word, I can guarantee you that little 2nd grade girl has never felt more like a bombshell sexpot in her entire 7 years of living. I like to imagine her having a whole new spark in her glitter-shoelaced step. I know he is definitely thinking that once all her adult teeth come in and she gets braces and her first eyebrow waxing, she will be first in line to be his wife.

Watch out, single ladies....

The 2nd post I've ever written about dog sex

2012-11-12T20:55:00.000-06:00

(NTRK Day whatever, since I took the weekend off)

Adrian ran back into our room, screaming and grabbing his face like Macaulay Culkin.

"Charlie is kind of pooping in my room!"

Charlie is a yorkie. Mat got him for us last year for Christmas. We've had him almost a year with no problems. He has only had a few accidents and the only complaint I have about him is that when I am not paying attention he licks my armpit or cleavage, whichever is closer.

I grabbed my slippers and ran into Adrian's room. Charlie was hunched over in a poopingish position but wasn't running from me like he normally would if he was taking a shat in the house. I went to pick him up but he looked funny. Almost like he was in a state of pure ecstasy, yet also extremely invaded.

"Look at his poop, Mom!"

That's when I saw it. It kind of flopped against the ground and pulsated. It was huge and purple and veiney. I screamed. Charlie glanced up at me, annoyed that I interrupted.

"Adrian, go get Dad"

I hear him wailing as he runs down the hall "Whaaaatttt's happenninnnnggggg"

When he ran into my bedroom to get Mat, he was extremely distraught.

"Daddy you gotta come quick. Oh my god, it's not poop. It's not poop. It's....it's coming....it's out of his....oh my god hurry up and get up, it's out of his....it's from his.....privates penis...oh my gah come on!"

Mat calmly walks in the room as I have leaned down and am at a loss for what is going on with my life. I have always had male dogs and have NEVER seen anything like this before. I wasn't even for certain it was what I was fearing it was. I thought it was a tumor that fell out of his stomach. It was so big. Charlie weighs a little over 11 pounds and I am pretty sure his doggy chub was 9 inches. Little Ron Jeremy is still in hunched over position, throbbing and moaning and wanting a cigarette.

Mary: Mat, what is it?

Mat:....

Mary: IS THAT HIS DICK?

Mat: Yeah. Yeah. That's his dick. Damn, Charlie, putting me to shame.

Mary: I think he's dying or something. I think his intestines are falling out. Something is falling out. That's not okay. Look at him.

Mat: Yeah but he looks...like...he's all right.

Mary: I DON'T UNDERSTAND WHY IT'S PULSING.

At this point, some of it got on my foot. Yes, that happened. I can't go into further detail because this is a family blog. But...let's just say I didn't get there in time to stop what was now happening.

As I was yelling and trying to keep myself from offing myself, Mat picked up Charlie and carried him with his one eyed purple people eater facing away from him, all the way to our bathroom. He shouted at Adrian to look away. When I cleaned off my foot (sick) and went to follow, I found Adrian in the corner of the kitchen, facing the wall, crying.

Adrian: What's..(sob) .happen....ing......(sob)

Mary: He's fine. Can you tell me what Charlie was doing right before he pooped Tarzan's dong out of his urethra?

Adrian: He was...just...hugging my pillow pet. He was hugging it over and over again and then started growling at him and biting at him.

Mary: Okay. Are you ready for this?

Adrian: (sob) yes...(sniffle)

Mary: Sometimes, when penises think they're having sex they get real big.

Adrian: OH MY WORD. and slimy???

Mary: Meh, that one's really disgustingly slimy. He's okay, though. He just thought he was making sweet doggy sex to your pillow pet.

Adrian: Why didn't it go away when we told him to stop?!?!

Mary: Adrian, I'm cool with talking about this all night if you want to but do you really want to ask more questions.

Adrian: Ug. No. Goodnight.

I got him a glass of water and tucked him back in, talking about Disneyland to clear his little mind of k9 penis veins.

I walked back into our bathroom, expecting Mat to have done whatever it takes to have this wrapped up and taken care of. At this point it had been a good twelve minutes since orgasm dog started his thing, surely by now this was over.

No.

Mat is in the doorway, his phone to his face. Charlie is hunched over his gross self on a bathroom rug.

Mary: Uhhh, could we not get this session wrapped up?

Mat: If this goes on for 30 minutes it says we should take him to the vet.

Mary: Take him to the vet right now. Those blood vessels are about to burst all over my bathroom.

Mat: It says here not to manually release him or assist him in any way, because it could cause more damage than good.

Mary: Ummm...yeah....you don't...have to worry...about that.

Mat: It says to get a cold and wet cloth and put it on it.

Mary: I nominate you to put a cold and wet cloth on it. You seem like you'd be good at that.

All of a sudden, Charlie breathes out deeply and lays down on his side, panting. He's now done. How nice for him.

Mat: Ah, there it goes. It's going away.

Mary: I'm so grossed out by him right now. Just. Make him go away. He's like a trucker on the side of the highway.

Mat: I'm just glad we've already had sex today because this would have killed the mood.

If anyone would like to see a picture, we MAY have taken one. I may have been sending it to a few select friends at different levels of zoom all day. I am not sure about the beastiality laws and distribution of naked dogs, etc. Just text me if you want some of that.

Nonperks of being a sixth grade (wall)Flower.

2012-11-08T21:57:00.002-06:00

(NTRK Day 5)

Sixth grade.

I had my braces off before everyone else so you would think I was a goddess compared to the sea of brace faces.

Pre-teen hormones hit me a lot differently than it did most girls. All I had to do was listen to Lisa Loeb's "Stay" and think about my mother, who was alive and healthy in the next room, and I would be a crying sack of ugly on the floor. I still to this day can't watch Forrest Gump without getting a lump in my throat because I associate it with missing my mother, who was never gone. Weird and needy. That's Mary!

If only I could have one of those boyfriend things that all the girls who wore yellow boots had. They seemed to make you not cry on the floor. They seemed to get you past your Disney movie love stage, that was still clinging so desperately to me and my stretch pants.

I decided to make a tall boy in Miss Beasley's math class mine. I put wet n wild red lipstick on my cheeks and instead of doing my math homework, I wrote him a love note. I remember the nervousness of handing him the note mixed with the sudden immediate regret of not doing my homework. What balls of steel I had! He hadn't ever even talked to or acknowledged me and I decide I'm going to remind him that the girl who sang "Oscar Meyer Wiener" in front of the whole school was one bad bitch with some heavy emotional love for him.

Math was my 2nd class followed by Science and Vocal Music. I made it through all those unscathed. This game plan was working. I wondered what would happen when I saw him in Math the next day.

Lunch was here and I was excited about stuffing my plain face with my usual lunch of french fries and a blue bell cookies and cream ice cream sandwich. I was probably looking around to make friends when I walked past his lunch table. He was smiling, a bit uncomfortably. I have always thought he was a nice guy and this wasn't his instigating. One of his friends yelled "THERE SHE IS!" and cleared his throat. That's when I noticed the paper in his hand.

"'My heart skips a beat every time you walk by. I love coming to math because I get to sit close to you. I love your K swiss. Let's be boyfriend.' HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA LOOK AT HER SHE HAS CRAYOLAS ON HER FACE, EVEN!"

This sounds like the most embarrassing moment of someones life, but it wasn't that awful. It was kind of a meh, I tried, that sucks. I'll go sing it out and jump on a trampoline.

I was still a child. Obviously, boys couldn't make me cry but I wanted to cry every day at school because I missed my mom. I probably wasn't real ready to get it on with one of those 12 year old fetus-faced boys, anyways.

(I know my friends that have known me forever hate it when I don't use names. I know for a fact the recipient of the note reads this blog sometimes, and I can't call him out. The one who read the note out loud in the lunchroom was Brooks. Who sucks)

That blog..you know the one that's pointless...? (NTRK Day 4)

2012-11-07T20:44:00.000-06:00

I often wonder how people would refer to me if they were talking to a friend and the friend didn't know who I was.

"Mary...you know, that obnoxious loud girl who breathes funny?"

"Mary...you know, she got lost in the parking lot and was crying in the bathroom?"

"Mary, you know Mary! Droopy-eyed democrat girl...?"

I am always surprised at the go-to description I give for people because they're never effective. Especially with husband with one T.

Mary: So I was talking to Cassie and I-

Mat: Who the fuck is Cassie?

Mary: Cassie. You know, my friend that likes Owen Wilson movies?

Mat: Okay. Continue.

Mary: Wait, but do you know who I am talking about?

Mat: No clue.

Mary: Are you serious? Cassie! Cassie. The one who smells like potatoes and friendship.

Mat: Go on with your story.

Mary: Do you know which one she is now? Cassie?

Mat: No, I've never met her. Just keep going, it doesn't matter.

Mary: It DOES matter. Cassie! She always uses prepositions at the end of her sentences. I always call her "girl" even though I hate when people say that.

Mat: Yeah, no idea.

Mary: WILL YOU PLEASE AT LEAST JUST TRY TO REMEMBER CASSIE. YOU'RE NOT EVEN TRYING OR LISTENING. CASSIE!

Mat: You can say her name as many times as you want. It won't help....

.....
.....

Mary: She's the one you said always wears baggie dresses so you can't tell if she has a nice body.

Mat: Oh yeah. That girl's name is Cassie? hmph.

If I'm talking to a friend about you and my friend can't figure out who I am talking about, I vow to say something super positive about you as the first reminder. Even if it's really hard.

"Julie, you know Julie. The one with..the...really..ummm...fresh breath..?..."

Sssssstrange Fascination, fascinating me...(NTRK day 3)

2012-11-06T21:55:00.002-06:00

(NTRK is an acronym for November to Remember Kinda)

I have trouble sleeping.

The problem isn't physical, it's only mental. I have always joked with my friends that it's ADD but when I try to sleep it's almost the opposite. I can't stop focusing on a thought.

Sometimes this thought is a worry.

"What am I going to do if I see a wasp tomorrow?"

"I'm so sad that husband with one T didn't compliment me today"

"Why are there so many mean and poor people?"

etc.

But most of the time it is something completely random and senseless, making it all the more frustrating. I can't even explain it. I once couldn't sleep because I couldn't stop thinking about how the top of the easy cheese gets hard and what the hell are you supposed to do with that little tip of hard nasty hell cheese? I obsess over this thought.

Last night my thought that kept me up until nearly 2AM was The David Bowie lyric: "Time may change me, but I can't trace time."

It bothers me that he didn't make the statement prettier by saying "Time may change me, but I can't change time."

I mean, why the hell not!? It makes sense, it's true, and it sounds 140% better. It flows right off the tongue.

I've listened to this song since I was a zygote and I don't know why my brain decided to pick last night to let it take over my life. I almost fell asleep and then I imagined David Bowie sitting on the basket of my banana seat bike, explaining the lyric to me. I imagined the written lyrics in every known language. I scribbled out multiple papers in my head with that damn lyric. I sang what I felt like should be the correct lyrics to some angels and some giraffes.

After 45 minutes, I said "ENOUGH MARY"

My first tactic to remove the thought is to take a walk. I take 3 laps around the couch and 2 around the island. Then I drink some water. Last night I threw in a jolly rancher.

I got back to bed and fell right back to sleep. My first dream was about my 9th grade zoology teacher. I don't remember how this related back to the song lyric but somehow it did. I turned to face the strain! Leave me alone, Bowie!

Time may change me, but I can't change time! (You probably even thought that's how that song went, am I right or am I right?)

After washing my face and singing a few other songs in my bathroom with the fan on, I finally got the mediocre lyric out of my head.

When the song comes on my iPod, I always sing my lyric You know, because it MAKES MORE SENSE. But this morning, on my way to work after my 3rd cup of coffee, that crazy pale bastard finally won.

I embrace change. Ch Ch Ch Ch Changes.

November to Remember Kinda. Day 2

2012-11-05T00:28:00.000-06:00

Today is November 5, Monday. I have to go back to work today after being off most of late last week for my aforementioned assaulted neck and ear. Here's a picture of my swollen temple on my corn bag so you can feel ultra sorry for me and buy me a vacation to Zurich.

My new job, let's talk about that. It's hardly "new" anymore. I have been there since May, with visions of free food, proximity to coffee, and vision insurance dancing in my head; I went strongly into training knowing everybody was about to be blown out of the water.

That didn't so much happen. I have never had a job that I didn't do well, but these last 3 months were my first quarter on "the floor" and the floor was not kind to me. I basically have a lot of people that I need to sell something. Every time they sell my thing, it goes to my number. If they don't want to sell my thing, they tell me to get the fuck away, and I go find a break room to cry in. I then call customers and try to make friends for the rest of the day, getting shot down every which way by everyone who wants to squash my smiles. I've been working on the weekends, working every evening, never leaving when I am supposed to, and I am still nowhere near where I want to be quota-wise or building relationships-wise.

Do I suck at this job? It appears so. But I am working very hard. I'm used to seeing how something could be done better, and taking those suggestions to someone in the same office as me, and those changes getting implemented. At Giant Computer Corporation, it's more of a "You have suggestions about what? Stop complaining and work harder." Then that's usually followed by an inside joke I don't get to be a part of because I'm still new and I still suck, so I go eat a muffin and think about a vacation to Helsinki.

We'll have to see where this goes. I have new ideas to try to implement this quarter to see if they will make a difference. Hopefully Giant Computer will see something in me and bring me on to bigger and smilier things. I would eventually like to be a strategic lease rep. They only have a handful of people they support, so they are much less likely to get made cry in a break room 1/3 of the week. They also have the opportunity to travel to their geographic area to visit customers. I think I would love that. So that's on the goal list. I'll keep you advised through my November to Remember Kinda how the job is treating me.

I also got a new scarf. It's so pretty that I refuse to acknowledge out loud how much it makes my face itch.

"What'd that person over there pretend to say?"

November to Remember Kinda. Day 1

2012-11-05T00:05:00.001-06:00

Here is my first entry in my November to Remember Kinda challenge. I originally decided since my job was sucking all the life all out of me I would promise myself to write every day in November.

But then November 1st happened and I got sick. Not sure what was/is wrong with me. Basically I had an ear infection and then the ear infection raped my neck. While kicking it and making it cry. Which in turn, made me hug a fluffy pillow and wrap my neck in hot corn for 5 days. I think I'm on the home stretch. I at least hope I am because I have to get out of my bed and get my mouth out of the kids' Halloween candy.

So here I am, November 4. Promising you that I will be here, every day for the rest of the month. It probably won't be funny or interesting or even readable. But it will jump me up in blog hits and get me that much closer to a book deal. Which is really all this is about anyways, can I get a what what?

We had my family Thanksgiving today. It's my Mother's very selfless new idea of having holidays on random days, that way all of us divorcees and our offspring can be ALL HERS! It's a very good tactic. And it means I get to have a triptophan week of sleeping, which is better than ambien and sex combined when it comes to quality of sleep! Here's a picture of all of us today. Adrian looks slightly like he hates happy things, but getting everyone to look happy in a picture just doesn't happen.

Lofty Dreams...

2012-10-14T14:45:00.000-05:00

I remember passing by the place when I was a kid and thinking it was scary. Such a negative image would come to mind when I would see "Garage Loft" apartments. I always imagined sleeping under an Oldsmobile and breathing in exhaust fumes while getting kicked by a naked hobo with bad breath.

When I was 18, though, I was obsessed with being different than everyone else. I wanted to be a musician. For my art to expand, I needed to suffer. Nobody likes a happy musician. All the best Beatles albums were made once they all grew out their beards, stopped smiling, and started doing drugs. I was ready to get out of the suburbs and suffer in the city with my non-conformist boyfriend and our Rauschenberg paintings.

I imagined these apartments to cost around $200 a month. I mean, there weren't walls or ceilings, so they had to be dirty cheap. When we met the landlady to look at the apartment, she was dressed way too nice and spoke way too well for this to be the suffering ghetto we imagined. She showed us a two-story loft, that was 1600 sq feet, and had two walls of windows. I imagined little emo babies, living in the bedroom at the top of the stairs. There wasn't even a railing, so they'd have the cutest view of the cement floored living room below. It was $2100 a month. We tried to kind of swallow and pretend like that wasn't a big deal, but I think I almost pooped my waitress uniform when she spoke that number. We made less than that in a month, AND we had two other bills. (ha!)

We asked to see a smaller cheaper one, like maybe, the smallest and cheapest one they had. She showed us one that was vacant in the very front. It just seemed so perfect and small, 800 sq feet with floor to ceiling windows and 18 foot ceilings with exposed pipes. We loved it and I could immediately see myself looking out of the windows with the forlorn face I was sure I could eventually have. I'd be listening to Janis Ian and writing my teenage angst to tune of A, C, and D as those were the only chords I could play.

The apartment was $660 a month. That was double what we had budgeted. I have no idea how we got approved. We got two parking spots, that were on the same floor as our apartment. We got to park right beside our door, inside! No more scraping ice off my car and getting my identity stolen! Okay, it wasn't the suffering we thought we'd be doing but it was even better. It was fancy and expensive and we were ready to sell out.

We went antique shopping for furniture since we only had $60. I tried to be tricky/criminal and moved a price tag off a wobbly card table to a butcher block-style coffee table. When we tried to check out, the owner of the place called the booth renter to make sure that $14 was right for this antique wood table. I could hear her screaming through the phone. We played dumb and pretended like we were going to buy it anyway, but oops, I forgot my other $340. It was a little defeating. How could our decor possibly compete with our neighbors?

We got creative. We had a big piece of glass that we set on top of a wooden table made of a record box and 4 legs. We filled the empty record box with pictures of us and our dogs. We bought that old card table and some fabric and tacked the fabric all the way around the table. We bought a used couch cover and covered an old hand-me-down couch. We attached spotlights to microphone stands with big metal clips.

This was on their website. The 2 story loft. Who wouldn't want this place with these 2 hotties?

These are the only crappy pictures I could find. That's my "artwork" above the handmade lamp.

That TV was awesome. And yeah, those are bunny ears.

Our first night there, I could barely sleep. It was so exciting. I kept wanting to open the curtains and stare at the city. I worked as a waitress, so I was always up late anyway and slept most of the day. We didn't have cable or internet so mostly we listened to music and fought. We LOVED to fight. You're lazy, no you're lazy, no you don't appreciate my talent, no you need to brush your teeth, STOP SMOKING, you're so selfish, stop quitting your job. After our first big fight the first night in the new apartment, I felt like it was already tainted. I laid in bed thinking about my parents' house. There was carpet and grass and my parents at that house. Finally fell asleep at almost 4 AM, thinking about stupid decisions and low self-esteem.

I was woken up slowly by progressing loudness. It was 7:45 AM, according to my alarm clock. Why were people talking? I peeked out the window and saw people. People that were awake for exercise. Loud, stupid, healthy people with matching shirts on. It was a marathon. I had to get up. They were so loud. I tried to open the windows and have a happy attitude.

I heard a banging at the door. When I answered it a man in scrubs stood in front of a Ferrari. He gave me a goofy condescending smile and pointed to my Honda accord parked next to my door. "NOPE. My spot."

I found out that the landlady had told me wrong and I actually had to park in the parking garage. This meant I had to park in a PARKING GARAGE in DOWNTOWN OKLAHOMA CITY and walk up a dark flight of stairs by myself every day. Remember how I fear getting thrown in the back of a van? Parking garages aren't really conductive to that kind of fear. My boyfriend, Chad, was at work. I called him bawling about the parking spot. I didn't even want to live there if I had to park in a parking garage. He told me I was overreacting and to go back to sleep. I couldn't go back to sleep because people were running for a good cause outside our window.

The rain was wonderful in the loft. I opened all the curtains, turned on Diana Krall, and watched the drops fall on the windows. That was when the place was wonderful; Chad wasn't there and I was alone in the rain.

I got home from work at midnight and when I walked in, Chad was looking at something intently across the street. I took off my apron and picked a fight.

When we had that settled, we discussed what he'd been looking at. On the curb in front of the florist (Floral and Hardy, how cute is that?!) there was an arcade game. It was HUGE. It had a sign on it that said "free". We decided we had to have it. People kept driving by and looking at it and we already felt like it was ours. We had so much space and it would look more than appropriate on the cement floor. Problem was, it was almost two in the morning and we knew someone would come back for it when the sun came up. We didn't have any friends, let alone any friends with a truck. We needed a dolly but had negative twelve dollars in our bank account. So we opened my trunk and leaned it onto the open part of the trunk. Chad lifted up the other side and I drove, up a very steep hill, with him carrying the other side. Then we shoved it onto a blanket that we dragged into our home. We had an arcade game. Word spread in the building, and all the rich people were knocking to look at our decor. Ferrari guy even complimented the homemade microphone stands.

We only lasted there about 3 months, because of a little billing problem. By that, I mean, we ain't gots no money. While walking the dogs we stumbled upon a place in a non-respectable area with sign in the yard. "4 RENT $300". It had no dishwasher or laundry facilities. The lady that came to show us the place was wearing a giant pink t-shirt with an upside down Tweety bird. She owned not a single tooth. Before she let us in to give us a tour she yelled at us.

"I AIN'T GOT NO PROBLEM WITH YALLS PEOPLE HAVING A PAST. EVERYBODY DONE FUCKED UP ONCE OR TWICE SO YA GOT BAD CREDIT OR BEEN TO JAIL OR STUFF I AINT CARE. I JUST CAINT HAVE NO ONE THAT MESSED WITH KIDS OR DID TIME FOR CRIMES WITH GUNS OR BOMBS OR NOTHING"

This place would clearly be much better for us.

You wish, Hoodie criminal!

2012-10-06T23:42:00.001-05:00

I have to overcome my fears.

Okay, not at all of them. Just some of them. Well, at least one right now.The reason it's really important right now is because today is cold. It hasn't been cold in like, 8 months. When it gets cold, people wear hoodies. And when people wear hoodies, I think they want to throw me in the back of a van.

I've always said, if I got kidnapped I think I could talk my way out of it. I would pretend to enjoy it and be happy until the kidnapper just loved the shit out of me. Then I would tell him I was going to go for a walk and think about how happy I had been in the basement he'd thrown me in. He'd be so happy that he made me so happy that he would let me go and I would sprint (walk fast) to the nearest restaurant so I could be rescued and eat, essentially solving both of my biggest problems in one act. For some reason in my head, I picture this restaurant having pancakes. I really can't explain that.

Anyways. Even though I feel like I am confident in my escape skills, I still fear the process.

One day I was getting out of my car while working at the bank. I turned and saw a man in the same general area as me, heading in my general direction. I screamed. I screamed and took off sprinting, looking back to see if he was still coming to get me. I got in the bank, out of breath and almost sobbing as I told the tellers that a man in a hoodie had been chasing me. That's when he walked in and made a deposit in his granddaughter's Kangaroo savings account.

How do you come back from that? It's tough. I told him I was sorry and said something super cheesy and old fashioned like, "you scared the bejeebies out of me!". He didn't acknowledge my apology and never really spoke to me again. Even though he ALWAYS talked to the employees who hadn't ran from him screaming like a monkey. What a judgmental asshole.

Is it an ego thing? Do I think everyone wants to put me in their car/basement? I really don't know. I don't even feel safe when I'm with other people, in the middle of the day, in a parking lot full of cameras.

One day a few weeks ago, my friend Amy and I were walking out of work. We work at a very large company and sometimes have to walk far to get to our car. There's a crosswalk that stretches across the multiple parking lots. It was an incredibly nonscary time, like 1pm or around there. Amy was casually telling me a story that I wasn't listening to because I was certain the person walking behind us wants us to be his. I kept looking over my shoulder to try to subtly make him feel subordinate but it was to no avail. He was gaining on us. Never mind myself, I had to save Amy. She's very little and had no idea we were about to get hit in the back of the head with a laptop bag. I wasn't going to stand for it. I finally lifted up my hand to shush Amy and turned around and stared our attacker straight on.

"LISTEN, YOU NEED TO WALK THE OTHER WAY OR GET IN FRONT OF US. YOU'RE WALKING WAY TOO CLOSE TO US AND MAKING US UNCOMFORTABLE"

The way this computer geek looked at me, like how dare I think that because I was on the sales floor I could question his walking speed, was enough to halt the rumble we were about to have, West Side Story-style (snap, snap). He said, "I'm just walking to my car, it's right there." , like it was obvious and simple. I'm still not sure if I stopped an imminent stalker attack or just insulted a friendly co-worker leaving for Quiznos.

I realized I may need an intervention because today it reached a new low.

We were at Adrian's soccer game, it was fucking cold, and people were wearing coats, like cold people tend to do.

The one on the left must have kidnapped the other one.

It was about five minutes until the end of the game and I asked husband with one T to take Ellis to the car and get it nice and warm for me. So he left a little early, and I had to walk to the car with Adrian once the game was over. As we're walking, discussing his badassnes on the field, I noticed my heart is racing a little bit and I can't put a finger on what I'm so uncomfortable with. Then suddenly, just like the big machine that locates all the mutants in Xmen, I notice I am surrounded by men in hoodies. Most of them are even wearing sunglasses in an even more obviously criminal fashion.

The gate to get into the soccer fields is small and allows only one person to pass through at a time. I have spotted a killer in an OU hoodie that is plotting how to take me out and leave my adorable soccer player behind. We seem to CONVENIENTLY get to the gate at the same time. He smiles at me and Adrian and notions me to go right ahead. A 'ladies first' gesture, if you will.

The only thought that came into my head was

"You wish, Motherfucker! I'm smarter than that!"

I gave him a condescending and all-knowing smile and said my thoughts in a kid friendly manner. Something like, "Yeah, no way. YOU'RE going first". He was confused but went ahead of me, complying with my demands like a good criminal.

So yeah, this needs to stop. No one wants you, Mary. You breathe too loud and talk too much and don't brush your teeth most Saturdays. Get over yourself.

Porch Noodling Competition 2012

2012-08-20T21:23:00.001-05:00

From Mary's perspective:

I was pulling out of the garage to go get my eyebrows debushed when I noticed something out of the corner of my hairy eye.

What the hell...? I thought. Is that a bear? From my car in the street, I could see movement behind the reed plant that looked like human movement. But I kept seeing bear so I kept on thinking there was probably a small bear on the front porch. Then the bear looked up and it had skin on its face. It was a human. A human on my porch, dangling its toes in my pond.

Okay. Keep in mind that our pond is more like a puddle of incest than a pond. I don't need to mention again the amount of brother/sister sex these fish are having. It is not big enough for a foot, even if that foot belonged to a little old Asian lady. Here are some pictures so you can really zone in on the awkwardness of this.

How did scream, "DANGLE YOUR FEET IN ME"?

She walked all the way up the driveway and sidewalk. For 2 years.

I walked up, expecting her to either shoot me and run or just run, yelling at me that she'd won while carrying a couple of inbred fish she'd stolen. Both scenarios involved running away, embarrassed by being caught being completely inappropriate and disrespectful of others. She definitely didn't run away at all.

Pond creeper: Oh hi!

Mary: Um...hi

PC: She having so much fun!

I notice there is a little girl sitting next to her. She's adorable, with an afro and all pink clothes. Her hands aren't so much adorable as they are 10 inches into the bottom of our fish poo pond.

PC: You live here?

Mary (picture fake nice condescending awkward voice Mary): Yeahhh. Uh huh. I do.

PC: We enjoy your house for so many year. Since she were little, 1 years old, we come play in your water and fish. Now she 3 and You NEVER HERE. IS SO FUNNY!

Mary: Yeah, uh huh. Well, yeah, we both work...so.

PC: I think you Asian!

Mary: I'm sorry, what?

PC: You have the herb in your garden. We use the herb to make tea that make it so much better for no to pain anymore. HAHA. I say HAHA. I think you Asian so I take your herb, you thank you. HAHA.

Mary: My basil? You took my basil for your creepy headache tea?

The little girl, this entire time, never looks up at me. She is scooping the water/fish shit out with her hands and dumping it on the rock next to it. It's making the entire porch smell like a tuna sewage factory. Husband with one T had come out for just a moment without his shirt on, looked at me like I was crazy, and walked back in to leave the matter to me, the lady of the house.

PC: Yes yes. Is good for this. (rubs her temples) I don't know what translate to, just herb for tea. I like it very much. Is so funny that you not Asian. HAHA.

I knock on the door to get Mat back out on the porch. I am too non-confrontational to deal with this. I would be okay just listening to her rambling while being uncomfortable at night thinking she was watching me sleep. I am not very good at "handling" things. I tend to "avoid" them and then just call my mom and cry if they get worse.

Mary: Honey, should...I...do....something?

Mat: Was she just SITTING OUT THERE? I thought you invited her! WHO IS SHE?!

That was my cue to do a nice smile/ wave goodbye and start heading for my car, which is still running in the middle of the street.

Mat: Uh. Hey. What are we doing here?

PC: Oh hi. You live here. We enjoy your pond for many years. I babysit and we play in pond. HAHA.

Mat: What the hell? Ya'll need to GO.

Mat doesn't really beat around the bush or concern himself with things like small talk or compassion.

From Porch Creeper's perspective

Oh, look. A beautiful pond. I would like to stick my body parts in it. Oh look, basil. The only person who grows basil is an Asian person and since they're Asian they are just like me and will enjoy me sitting on their porch while they're gone and letting my charge play amongst super fun fish shit. Let's continue to do this for 2 years. Oh look, here comes a big lady, who the hell is she? She mumbled about something and I was confused why she was interrupting our daily porch time. Her eyebrows is bushy. Here comes her son. Or is that her dad? He has a hairy chest like a Venezuelan. He is saying something to me about going. I laugh a lot. We don't go. We will never go!

My Irish twin...

2012-07-06T13:05:00.001-05:00

I had to let you know about my brother.

Today is his 30th birthday! He's less than 11 months older than me. That makes us Irish twins. Not sure if you realize it or not but I kinda love the shit outta him.

Dressed alike for family pics in December

A possible indicator of this could be this post , this one , or that one, and even an honorable mention in this other one!

Here are few little Matthew stories:

When we were little, my mom was a bad ass toy slinger for Discovery Toys and sometimes it would take her out of town. I can't imagine that career line took her anywhere too exotic; she was probably in Bixby or something. Our dad was responsible for making sure my brother and I didn't die. He had made us a big steaming bowl of macaroni and cheese that I am sure he was adorably proud of. Matthew and I were 4 and 5, playing on the floor with some rocks we had pulled out of the flower bed. They were those big white crystally looking pointy rocks. We saw Dad coming and scrambled up to the table to get in our seats, leaving a few of the rocks in the pathway of the casserole-toting/loving dad of ours. When Dad felt those ridiculous unforgiving crystal points of the rocks against the sensitive bare skin on the arch of his foot, he immediately stumbled around awkwardly and tossed the steaming food onto the table.

"WHO PUT THESE ROCKS HERE? WHOSE ROCKS ARE THESE?!?"

Matthew and I looked at each other, terrified, and Matthew looked at my Dad with his sweet little face and said...

"They're your rocks Dad......I painted them for you."

"OH. WELL. UH. I GUESS I BETTER BE CAREFUL WHERE I PUT MY ROCKS."

My next favorite story is the one about the time he locked me out of the house and I peed my pants.

Oh wait. That totally sucked and I hate that day.

Here's another cute picture.

I'm sure if I wasn't blocking, we could see his little boy ball huggers

When he was 16, he drove the 1989 Toyota LE to school. He gave zero fucks that it was a giant silver van. I, on the other hand, pretty much only cared about finding purses that would make my boobs look the biggest when I wore it cross-body. I pretended like I didn't even know him when he was in that van. (I hate 1998 Mary too, okay?) He would pull up beside me at school when I was spitting my game at an upperclassman and start waving at me enthusiastically. I would yell at him about it later and rip the phone cord out of the wall so it would kick him off AOL. He would just laugh at me and think I sucked. Which. I did.

One day, my "boyfriend" "Amus" didn't give me a ride home from school because he didn't like me. I was wandering the halls asking friends for quarters to call someone to pick me up. Matthew walked by and asked why I was still there and said a cuss word or two about Amus. He said to come on, he'd take me home. I looked out the window to the parking lot to make a mental record of the cool people that could possibly view this happening. I shook my head. NO way I was gonna be seen in that giant metal thing. He walked out to his car and it only took me about 45 seconds to change my mind. I could just duck down in the passenger seat. I ran out there to catch up with him and hopped in the passenger seat and ducked down on the floor. He drove a few feet, put the car in park and jumped out.

Matthew: Get out of the car, Mary.

Mary: What? No! Everyone is looking.

Matthew: I'm not taking you home like this.

Mary: Shut the freak up and close the door and get back in the car. OH MY GOD. You're so embarrassing.

Matthew: I'm not driving. (Starts waving at people and pointing to me crouched down in the floorboard)

Mary: STOP! Matthew stop!

Matthew: If you want to get home, you have to drive.

Mary: I am not driving this thing while juniors and seniors are still in the parking lot.

Matthew: Then you're not getting home and I am going to continue to wave at people.

Someone with a cool Mitsubishi pulls up behind us and lays down the horn for us to move. They probably have swoopy hair and bad grades. Them seeing me like this was unacceptable. I jumped across the console and yelled at Matthew to get in the car. I had a driver's permit and I was gonna use it.

Mary: Get in the car, Matthew. Now!

We drove through the parking lot.

Matthew: Roll your window down, Marigold. Wave at the boys.

Mary: I hate you.

Matthew: WOOOOO! HEY GUYS! MARY'S IN THE CAR! WOOOO! LOOK OVER HERE! SHE'S DRIVING THIS THING HERSELF AND SHE LOVES IT! SHE WANTS YOU TO LOOK AT HER DRIVING!

He was such an ass and pushed me so far that I ended up hurting myself I was laughing so hard. I was so angry, but he was so ridiculous and embarrassing that I couldn't take it and ended up waving at cool people just to make my brother think I was careless and fun like him.

I'm not real sure what we are wearing/doing in this lovely picture

So....he makes me very happy.

I'll leave your birthday present right here right now. Enjoy.

Happy birthday to a guy who never cares that squished balls ruined a good picture

I wish, more than anything, we could see our striped socks in this picture. You know we had them .

Proof I was nice to you at least one day. Even if you had a temperature of 112 and it was just for the photo op.

Dad made us pose like this, the next picture in the stack was me pointing at a pumpkin.

Did you get me a present that year? I hope it was a hacky sack.

My thighs weren't crushing you THAT bad

Nothing says I love Fupa Bear like matching head to toe sweatsuits.

I wouldn't want to touch my 12 year old wanna be sexy face either.

Always waving! hahahahaha

One armed attractiveness gene display

Have a happy birthday! Don't let any girls wearing tights as pants in LA get you down. If you come home to beautiful Oklahoma, where it's only 106 degrees but a mansion costs 200k, I will make you a birthday cake and then stare at it.

For the love of the lack of the game

2012-06-16T13:53:00.002-05:00

I didn't have boyfriends in high school. It's a little hard to understand because I wasn't ugly. I just had zero game. The only thing I knew about romantic relationships was what I gathered from watching Disney movies and my parents.

Disney movies involve boys not wanting sex but instead wanting to come to my family's thanksgiving dinners and look at cute baby pictures of me wearing silly hats.

My parents don't fight, they have no insecurities or jealousies, they have an intricate level of trust that I will never understand, and they would rather be with each other than anyone else.

You may see how this would set me up for an unrealistic expectation of high school love.

This could be an extremely long blog but I shall keep it short in hopes that you'll read it and comment on it.

We'll start with a guy I will call Amus. Because that sounds like anus and he was anus-like.

I met him at the beginning of my sophomore year, when he was in the same talent show as me. He played the guitar for a cool girl who sang some cool song. I sang something from a musical by myself with no band. Neither here nor there.

He loved him some Jesus and we would go to church on Wednesdays, where he would play the guitar and I would think of the things we could do if we didn't both love the big prude guy upstairs so much. He called me gorgeous and drove a hipster car, so I would make him my boyfriend. He came over to my house and met my parents and laughed with my brother over how often I spilled things and broke stuff.

Clearly, he loved me.

But people started telling me otherwise. They said he just thought I was hot and wanted to take off my clothes. When I asked him about it, he said "Well, it's not like you really thought we had some deep love connection, right?"

WRONG.

If I knew then what I do now, I would've ignored his ass and looked hot and happy at school until he regretted ever letting me out of his sight.

But, I didn't know, and Amus knew that. He somehow convinced me keeping it casual and not telling anyone was the only way to make it work. I excitedly agreed, just please keep holding my hand in the car and singing Third Eye Blind. I knew where his classes were, and would wait outside of them. Sometimes he would walk right past me and then I'd cry. One time we ended up at the same house for a night o drinking, which we didn't do because of Mr. Jesus. Not only did he drink, he didn't speak a word to me the entire time we were there. I had a friend of his take me home, and I bawled in the backseat in the fetal position the whole way home.

His friend only said one thing, "He doesn't even like you"

I decided to move on but he didn't want me to. I have a feeling this is because I told him once we had been together for a year, we could make that sweet nasty high school love. He had other girls but would still make me feel like we were kinda sorta a little bit together. I would cry and tell him I loved him. I begged him over and over again to come to my recitals and plays. I requested kindly that he acknowledge me at school. He refused and I was like 'that's okay he still loves me, as long as sometimes he calls me and tells me that.'

Then the summer came. I turned 16. Went to church camp. Listened to N Sync. Got awesome boobs. Gained some self esteem. Was doing good and being strong and awesome and fun.

Then Amus came back. He's all, "let's be together so we can still do it". He took me the lake, where he had floating candles in the water. He had borrowed his friend's trailer. By trailer, I mean a home where he thought he could he could drive his car into my innocent garage. But I had the strength of the Virgin Mary (pun very much intended) and I told him if those were his intentions he needed to take me home. He took me to a gas station, where my friend was waiting to rescue me, and NEVER TALKED ME TO AGAIN. Not at any social functions, not at school, not on myspace 5 years later, NEVER.

Pathetic. That was a long and extremely sad one. Here are just a few more short examples of my complete and total lack of game while I was in high school.

- I chased and chased and chased this guy who worked at the bingo parlor. I would sing Mandy Moore with my eyes closed, thinking of him being my boyfriend. When he did finally ask me for my number, we spoke for 3 hours. It was a great conversation. He said he had really enjoyed talking to me and would call me again sometime.
Me: When do you mean by sometime? I need to know when?
Him: hahahah okayy miss bossy
Me: No I want to know the time and day you intend to call, I don't want to be like, waiting around forever.

He never called again.

- I had been dating a guy for 4 days when I cried on the phone with him because he wouldn't take me to a non-formal dance and instead wanted to see the birth of his nephew or something.

- I met a guy at church and then searched on AOL for anyone I could find that also went to his school that could give me info on whether or not he had a girlfriend. I think I wrote 12 emails.

- I met a guy at a lockin who agreed to come to my parent's house afterward to make out with me on the couch. As he was leaving in his Dodge 2500, I said "I've never had a boyfriend who drove a truck before!" He never called again.

- I liked a boy who invited me to his house to watch a tape of a band performing. His friends were there too and I wanted them to like me so I acted really, really dumb. I also wandered into the kitchen and found his mom, where I professed my obsession with her son and suggested me and her hang out sometime. He REALLY never called again.

I am sure I have some stories about me also breaking some hearts. I didn't realize how much of high school involved the love of the chase.

It's much more fun to paint myself as a victim, though, so feel sorry for me and tell me how much of a catch you're sure I was in 1998.

I just want to see a black guy in public that ends up not being an everyday black guy.

2012-06-10T16:38:00.000-05:00

This is getting ridiculous.

I sit here, a humble woman. A humble woman wearing a Thunder t-shirt, a thunder necklace, and orange nails. My face is smeared with wrinkle cream that's endorsed by the NBA.

I'm not racist, but I

Wait a second, when people start sentences like that they usually follow it up with something offensive and stereotypical that makes people cry. Kind of like when I start a sentence with "Bless her heart". You can be damned sure "her baby looks like John C Reilly" is coming out next.

But not in this case.

I'm not racist, but I want every black guy I see in public to end up being Kevin Durant. Especially when these black guys are tall and wearing a hat and sunglasses.

It's not fair. I don't get to run into Thunder players and that's the only true thing I want out of life. I don't need money, trim thighs, a 2013 Gwagon, or baby smooth skin on my face. I DO need to watch Kevin Durant picking up a prescription from Walgreens.

I have been to a few Thunder games, so I have seen them in person. That's not even close to what I want. It doesn't have to be Kevin Durant. It could be any other play who currently plays for the Oklahoma City Thunder. I would prefer him to be Kevin Durant or James Harden or someone who is not Russell Westbrook.

I'm not sure why it is, but Russell Westbrook angers me. I will scream at him to pass to KD the whole game. When he misses a shot I yell at him and call him mean names. When Kevin misses a shot, I post "It'll be okay buddy face, keep your head up!" on his Twitter. I'll yell at Russell the whole game how much he sucks, then I see he scored more points than anyone the whole game.

Anyway, I'm getting off point.

I was at the nail salon today. The same nail salon I was patronizing when I saw Kevin Durant's mom. She's kind of a big deal because KD LOVES THE ABSOLUTE SHIT OUT OF HIS MOM. I thought she would be my "In", but she ended up kind of hating my soul.

Mary: You're Kevin Durant's mom, right?
Wanda: Yes, I am.

Mary: Uh, do you know how much I love him?
Wanda: No I don't.

Mary: Can I please come hang out with ya'll on Mother's Day? I'll bring a pie or something. Please.

Wanda: You just made me lose at Scramble with Friends.

Mary: Can we call Kevin?

Wanda: As much as you be stalking us you should know he's at practice!

That's pretty much how the whole conversation went. I compare it to my yorkie, when he jumps up and tries to kiss me on the mouth, I kick him in his mouth and don't feed him.

At this nail salon, a hot black girl and her man walk in. Her man is tall and wearing sunglasses and a hat. He doesn't take them off when they sit down for their pedis. I start to realize that this means he's famous and I need to attack.

I adjust my seat so I can see behind his sunglasses.

Eh, he's got acne scars. I don't think my boys have any scars. They're perfection and I want to tuck them into bed at night while singing them a Judy Garland song. Except Russell Westbrook.

Maybe he plays for the Heat? Maybe he came into town early so his hot girlfriend could hit all the awesome OKC shopping.

I google Heat players on my phone and alternate staring at him, straining my neck, and looking at my phone. I look in the parking lot to see if he had a nice car.

I'm starting to get frustrated and consider asking him to take a pic with me. Then I can judge his reaction on whether or not he's famous. It's a pretty solid plan. If he's confused and scared, he probably works at Big Lots and is 35. If he seems slightly annoyed but says yes, he's gotta be someone famous and I can figure it out later based on the facebook comments I'll get after I post the picture.

I am about to put my plan into action when I realize his girlfriend is staring at me with the hate of one hundred thousand Pentecostals in her eyes. Her expression says,

"Why are you staring at my man? I specifically chose this man because he has good credit and acne scars and a big gut so I don't have to deal with you trying to steal him with your emerald green bedroom eyes."

That's when I realized he had a gut. A pretty large one. He wasn't anyone famous or athletic.

So the moral of the story is:

Whenever someone posts on Facebook that they saw Kevin Durant at Dillards, or the movie theatre, or at the Mercedes Dealership, or in a parking lot at Cool Greens. Don't get jealous. Don't throw your computer in an it's not fairish kind of rage.

I vow to stop staying at home taking pictures of myself and watching documentaries and go everywhere I possible can, all the time, when they have a game at home.

Maybe then, and only then, will I finally stalk a tall black guy who actually deserves it.

When did we stop being cool?

2012-05-10T11:39:00.000-05:00

I like to think I was pretty cool in my day.

By "my day" I mean 7th grade and on. Before that I had a bowl cut and loved Mickey Mouse and little orphan Annie. I loved these things well beyond the age of 12 but I learned to open my mouth only when I liked cool things. Like Home Improvement and sex.

I know husband with one T was cool in high school. I know this simply from stalking his high school yearbook and looking incessantly at his smoking hot high school girlfriend's profile picture (It's a private page or else I'd also be stalking how much less cute her offspring would have to be)

I decided to start spray tanning. I thought, if I can't lose weight, I may as well be orange. It's helped me be a little bit happier this last 2 weeks of my job.

I go to the tanning place. You probably don't realize this, but you have to be 17, brown, and cool to work at a tanning salon. I ask for a month of unlimited spray tanning.

17 year old tan cool girl with a lot of bracelets: (doesn't look up from the computer) Do you have the groupon?

Pale, old, but thought she was still cool Mary: Uhhh no. There's a groupon?

cool girl: Yes, it's for 60 days for $30. If you don't have that, you have to sign up for a 6 month contract.

Mary: Oh. Okay. Well give me a second to buy it my on Iphone. I have an Iphone because even though I'm older than shit, I'm still really cool.

CG: Let me know when you've bought it.

Mary: (15 minutes after searching on my phone and not wanting to admit I wasn't cool enough to find it): Ummmm was it from today? I can't find it.

CG: It's not a groupon, it's some other company. But whatever, I know it's out there.

Mary: (tap tap tap on phone and want to cry because pretty girl is being mean)

Mary: (why the hell do I care what she thinks anyways? Bitch, I have a benz and a salary and you work at the tanning salon and you'll be just as old as me in 11 years.)

Mary: (gah but she has so many bracelets)

Mary: Well, I can't find it and I have wasted far too much time looking for it. I am TOO BUSY and TOO AWESOME to stay in here anymore. So. What do we need to do?

CG: I'll just say you had the coupon and give you that rate. (Her eyes said "because you are old and not cool)

CG: Now I need to give you a tour since this is the first time you've been here. This here is the Princess Extreme Brown Half and Half bed. It had shoulder lamps, a lavender mist so you don't smell bad, a scanner that scans your forehead and wrist and adjusts the temperature so you don't burn, satellite radio, a face air conditioner, and a vibrator to keep you from getting cellulite.

Mary: Oh. Wow. Tanning beds have changed since I was in high school.

CG: Oh yeah. We even have people who have skin cancer that come in here. They have made so many advances in technology in these things that they aren't even bad for your skin anymore. Seriously.

Mary: (Okay. Maybe you're cooler than me but you're an idiot. YOU CAN'T SAY THINGS LIKE THAT)

Mary: Oh wow, that's great! Thanks a lot, high five!

Suddenly a song comes on that moves me. I feel such incredible impromptu passion for this song that I'm uncomfortable.

Mary: Do you happen to know who sings this? This song is amazing.

CG: I'll look in a minute.

CG: (Without looking up or even turning around) It's Seal.

Mary: Uh. Oh. Well. That clearly shows how lame I am. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA AM I RIGHT? LAAAAME. I MEAN. I DON'T LIKE IT THAT MUCH! AHAHAHAA

CG: Your spray tan is ready.

When did we stop being cool?

I went to the snow cone place one day and the 16 year old girl who worked there was crying when she came out the window. I immediately wanted to die on the cross for her. I asked her a few times if she was okay, then kinda started crying myself, because she was breaking my heart.

She ducked down and another woman came to take my order, I asked that woman if the crying girl was all right and she said "YA. SHE 16 AND ALL HORMONES."

As I got my snow cone, I started to drive away when I realized I hadn't gotten husband with one t his snow come. I pulled back around, and they didn't realize I was there but the window was open.

"OH MY GOD, DID YOU HEAR THAT LADY?! OH MY GOD SHE'S SO CREEPY. LIKE, LEAVE ME ALONE."

I realized she was talking about me and I started to cry like a cabbage patch baby.

I'm creepy and not cool.

Mat came home from the gym the other night and as he sat drinking his chocolate milk muscle disgustingness, he said, "You know, I always say hi to the kid that works at the gym and I can tell, he totally doesn't think I'm cool. I want to be like, I may be 32 but I'm still fucking cool."

"Oh my gosh, honey, I'm not cool anymore either!" I tell him about the tanning place chick and the snow cone girl.

I've decided the only way to counteract this is to make sure they know I think I am cooler than them. The next time snow cone girl is crying I'm going to tell her to put a smile on her fat face and give me my snow cone that I'm going to eat in my expensive car that my rich husband who doesn't make me cry (often) gave me. Then I"m going to drive to my real job, that doesn't pay me in free high school football tickets and gummy bears.

OH and tanning place girl, TANNING DOES CAUSE CANCER. You don't get to say whatever you want just because your gams look like my 7 year old anorexic son's.

Who cares if we're sexually aroused by our vegetable garden? Who gives a shit if we listen to the Little Mermaid soundtrack in our car at full volume?

We're still cooler than all of you.

Best Planned Week of Life

2012-04-26T14:55:00.000-05:00

I have been dying to tell everyone I know for 3 months. I got an offer from Giant Computer Company INC today! I don't really know what I'll actually be doing but it involves selling, being nice, and numbers.

Go Mary!Yay for raises and vision insurance!

In the midst of my negotating, I accidentally gave myself a week off in between my notice here at the credit union and my start date at GCC. (That's not its real name, I just don't want it showing up on search engines. If you must know, it rhymes with yell, fell, and bell)

What am I going to do for a week? My thoughts were.

*Make a tornado shelter with my mom hands
*Get a massage from a beautiful big chested man
*Get my first black eye
*Paint the baseboards in my bathroom
*Clean all the things!
*Juice and vomit fast

1. You can't make your own tornado shelter. All you paranoid assholes in Oklahoma cancel your appointments with all the companies. If I have to wait until AUGUST for a storm shelter, then panic attacks and pooing myself will happen for the rest of April, all of May, June, and July. I actually googled "dig my own tornado shelter" and Google came right back with, "NO, MARY."

2. The only massagers we have in Oklahoma are non hot females and don't have big hands. Bible Belt fail.

3. I'm still working on how can I get a black eye in a super awesome way. I go to an outdoor camp with Adrian and his class next week...maybe I'll get punched by a grizzly!

4. This just sounds not fun at all and probably won't actually ever happen.

5. Just click on that link. Ally is everything and I want to be plus good looks and impending fame.

6. A neighbor of mine is moving out of her house she once shared with her husband. Now ex husband is moving in with his 18 year old homewrecker of a girlfriend. I can't compete with no wrinkles and a youthful disposition. I gotta amp up the hotness at least temporarily to get husband with one T through the temptations.

And.............my family is really cute.

Koi= Magestic

2012-04-17T21:21:00.000-05:00

Mazzio's Delivery Boy: Hey, I love your Koi pond.

Mary: Hey, thanks. (They aren't koi. They're goldfish. But I am not a fish snob so he can call them whatever he wants. ) They need to all stop having incestuous sex with each other and having little inbred fish bastards.

Pizza Boy: I'm not just talking about how nice it looks and stuff. Koi mean something to me. I have studied the greek mythology behind koi EXTREMELY intensely.

Mary: Oh. That's neat. I don't really care about things like greek mythology or studying. I like...pizza.

PB: My first tattoo I got when I turned 18, a few months ago, was a koi.

Mary: Oh, really? That's a cool idea I guess. I don't really like tattoos, though.

PB: You wanna see it? It's all right if you do.

(Lifts up shirt to reveal his little boy back which is covered with a giant angry cartoon that looks like a constipated catfish. It wrapped around his back and all to the way to the front of his stomach. I thought he was going to pull down his boxer briefs to show me how low it went...)

Mary: Ohh.....yeah....that's....powerful.

PB: Koi swim up stream as metaphorical boys and reveal themselves upstream as dragons. Or men, if you will.

Mary: Oh, I will.

PB: My dad died and I'm going to swim up stream and be a dragon for him.

(Pulls shirt up higher on his barely legal chest to reveal a giant cartoon that appears to be a constipated tree.)

PB: And this is the tree of life.

(Flexes inappropriate chest and pats it intensely with emotion)

Mary: All right, so $24.75? Here's $27. You keep that change, you've been through a lot. At least you have...koi..and their..er..spirit..to hold on to.

"Why's that pizza guy still talking, Spongebob? I wish he'd leave so I could make sex to my sister."

What was really depressing is that he was clearly not hitting on me. I can't explain it in words to properly express it, but I think he wanted me to be his mom. I had urges to ask him to come in and watch Happy Feet with the kids (who were peering through the window wondering why I was getting a lap dance from the middle schooler in the pizza uniform). I would give him a Kevin Durant nightgown and tuck him in at 8:30.

Golfer.

2012-04-16T14:08:00.002-05:00

I decided to play golf because I wanted boyfriend with one T to think I was so cool that he would immediately explode with obsessive love and make himself husband with one T.

He was moderately excited when I wanted to learn. Kind of in a "meh" kind of way. He only gets one day off a week and that day off was usually spent playing wacking a little white ball with a big expensive stick. I wanted that day off to be spent in a different activity involving those two things, so I intervened.

Teach me, oh wise hot Boyfriend that I want to move in with.

Okay, moderately attractive and slightly needy Girlfriend, but you cannot get frustrated.

It's not that I get frustrated a lot; I just want to rock the shit out of any activity I attempt....

And I want to look good doing it. First step to that is new golfy clothes. I bought new golf capris and some preppy little tank tops with collars and breathable necks. And pink golf shoes. My Dad had assured me that it would knock a few strokes off my game. My game I hadn't even started yet.

Mat and I started at the driving range. He made me do some annoying stretches and warm ups first. He also kept TALKING. "Keep your head down. All that's important now is contact. Contact. If you hit the ball we're making progress. Think about your stance, but don't think about it too much. Stop thinking. Your movements need to be fluid. Mary, Are you even listening?"

"Yeah, yeah."

"Okay, get up there and hit it."

I know a lot of girls miss it the first time they swing. But a lot of girls don't have the natural athleticism that I was inherited with. I knocked that ball at least 120 yards and was about to celebrate when it took a dramatic swing to the right, into some trees.

What the hell?

Mat started to tell me that was normal, but I wasn't about to take anymore direction for the moment. I just kept slamming those balls, one after the other after the other and all of them were going into the trees.

So I started aiming to the left. Then my balls would go straight. Take that, Jesus.

We played our first course together one afternoon. It was a 9 hole course in OKC called Jimmy Stewart. It's pretty easy and flat so he thought it would be a good start for me. The first hole is a par 3. For those that aren't awesome, ideally you should drive the green and putt the ball in for a birdy. As a female with emotions and no upper body strength, my only chance of ever getting a birdy is on a par 3. I hit the ball with what felt like supermodel fluidity and it flew and landed, about 9 feet from the pin.

Mat stood there with his eyes wide open. He opened his mouth to speak the words I thought would be "Will you marry me and bear my heir" but it was more like "WHAT. THE. FUCK"

Mary: What? Was that good?

Mat: You're gonna get par. On your first hole ever. You have no idea how ridiculous that is. And how hot it makes you right now.

I giggled and threw myself around him. This was so damn easy! I was like that Natalie Golfer chick, but with a rack and a real job.

I did get a par on the hole. I also didn't get any other pars on the entire course. I didn't have any bogies either. I think I squeezed a double bogie or two. Those were not gonna get a ring on it, or get me any sponsors.

I began playing with Mat every Sunday morning with his brother, at approximately 4am. Maybe not that early, but never before 7:50. Heaven forbid. Cuteness became the last thing on my mind. All I wanted to do was hit the ball straight. Hit it straight. It was fun sometimes. But most of the time it was me crying.

When we played Fairfax, I was playing particularly bad. Mat was in a great mood and kept trying to keep me fun by giving me hot dogs and compliments. I took my 2nd drive on a par 5 and he grabbed me from behind. "That was a great shot, Baby! You landed that right on the green! Oh my god you're gonna be like 8 or 9 feet, you're gonna get a birdie or AT LEAST a par! That should cheer you up right there!"

I was smiling like a toddler at Elmo Live and bouncing on the seat on the golf cart on the way to my beautiful shot. I smiled at Mat and he smiled at me and everything was perfect. I couldn't wait to spend the rest of my life golfing professionally with a rich husband and a bunch of hot little kids.

We pulled up to the green. Where was my ball. WHERE WAS MY BALL? Mat had found his and was making some selfish practice swings for his chip, when he should of been taking pictures of my ball and mentally preparing for his proposal.

Mary: Where's my ball?

Mat: What? I'm too busy looking at my own ball.

Mary: Where is my ball? You said it was on the green.

Mat: I thought it landed on the back. Hmm. Weird. Hey, Aaron you think this guy slopes to the left a little?

Mary: MY BALL IS NOT ON THE FUCKING GREEN.

Mat: What?

Mary: Never mind, I guess I will walk around and FIND MY OWN BALL.

My ball had not hit the green. Or, if it had, it had then taken on new life and bounced down a giant hill, perhaps hit a little cart path, and ended up in some snake-infested grass by a pond. I found it and I was so angry. So. Angry. But since I am Mary all emotions manifest themselves into tears. I'm angry so I will cry. I am frustrated so I will cry harder. I am losing and am competitive so I will cry while throwing something.

I picked up my ball and sat down and cried. I cried for all women trying to get laid. I cried for the children of the world being neglected by their parents who were trying to shoot in the 70's. I cried for poor and sick people, just because.

Mat: Hey, oh your ball was down here. That's silly. Wha- wait....are you okay?

Mary: YOU TOLD (SOB) ME (SNOT SNIFFLE) MY BALL (SOB) WAS ON THE GREEN.

Mat: Well, I thought it was.

Mary: HOW COULD YOU DO THIS SHIT TO ME? YOU'RE SO MEAN. WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT TO ME. JUST LEAVE ME ALONE. MY BALL ISN'T ANYWHERE CLOSE TO THE GREEN? I THOUGHT WE WERE GETTING MARRIED. I'M SO BAD AND IT'S NOT EVEN MY FAULT ITS ALL YOURS AND I'M EVEN WEARING A GOLF SKIRT.WWWWWWAAHHHHH.

Mat: Oh my god. Are you serious? I know you're frustrated but you're acting crazy.

Mary: STOP LOOKING AT ME (to a nice couple in their 50's who were patiently waiting for me to get off their hole) Ohhhh, I'm acting crazy huh? How's this for crazy? (Throws club onto the ground)

Mat: (Picks up club) (Walks back to the cart) (Gives brother a knowing look)

Mary: I just wanna walk. I hate that fucking golf cart.

I continued to play with them with many more outbreaks like the one above, but I decided to stop playing permanently when Mat took me to Hawaii. It was so beautiful, I thought for sure I wouldn't get upset. Nothing could make me upset.

I had rented clubs because it was less than bringing them on the plane. That's an important part of the story.

Look at us! We're SO happy and perfect on this beautiful course!

Up so early and happy for a day of golf in paradise!

Look at us! Happy and excellent at golfing!

Ain't nothing wrong with a semi-slutty stance when you're a badass golfer!

Damn, we looked good in 07.

Not the place for a freakout. Right?

First of all, it was (is, maybe? Who knows) EXTREMELY windy in Honolulu. At first it was funny to watch our shots fly all over the place. We would laugh and high five each other and stick our tongues in each other mouths. We'd laugh at the prairie dogs making sweet love all over the damn place.

But once you've hit that many terrible shots in a row, with only prairie dog sex to cheer you up, It gets real. The fact you spent 180 bucks a piece to shank all your proV1's into the Pacific starts taking it's toll on you. Mat was getting frustrated. Which escalated me. I had taken 4 mulligans on a hole when I had had enough. I took my club and I calmly set it on the tee box while I gave it a pep talk.

"You listen here, and you listen good. You are a demon. You are the lowest piece of shit of the scum of the earth. Nobody likes you, ya hear me? NOBODY FUCKING LIKES YOU. YOU'RE A SLUT. NO. NO NO NO NO NO NO YOU'RE NOT A SLUT. YOU ARE A PROSTITUTE. YOU DON'T HAVE A HOME, NOBODY WANTS YOU! BECAUSE YOU'RE A PIECE OF VAGINA TRASH GARBAGE SHITCAKE! EVERYONE THAT COMES HERE PAYS TO RENT YOU AND THEN GIVES YOU BACK BECAUSE YOU'RE A WHORE. A WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOREEEEEEE!"

Mat comforted me and told me he thought I had been too hard on the poor rented 5 wood. He cancelled the rest of our planned golf games and I haven't played a game since.

I wish I was born a prairie dog.

It's a post about nothing!

2012-04-11T11:34:00.000-05:00

My week's negative:

I woke up at 5 in the morning with a screamingly loud alarm blaring into my dreams. I always dream (nightmare) about my husband nonchalantly cheating on me, so the alarm was actually quite better. Then I realized....

Fuck-we're gonna die.

Husband with one T had already torn off into the living room, clothesless. I gathered all my bravery and strength and then crawled under the covers with my cell phone. I dialed 911 but did not hit send. I kept my finger on the phone and hoped that naked Mat wasn't fighting anyone in my kitchen.

I was under the covers for 2 and a half months when Mat finally came back in the bedroom. He said our back door had been forced open, but the alarm must have scared them off. I started to ask more questions but he was trying to calm himself down. We have had a string of burglaries pertaining to us, and I know it stresses the poor guy out to no end.

The police showed up a few minutes later. They told us there had been a string of about 36 robberies in our neighborhood. The guy looks in the window, sees what he wants, gets through the back door and quickly grabs it and runs off. He had seen my laptop, the cop said, and planned on grabbing it until the alarm went off and spoiled all his brilliant plans.

They caught him a few days later. He can lick my dog's balls. I hate him.

photo courtesy of koco.com

Last year around this time he was caught stealing stuff:
Police said a man tracked down two people on Craigslist accused of stealing his iPod.

The man called police on Monday and told officers that his home and garage were burglarized late Sunday night, according to the police report released on Wednesday.

Police said the man’s iPod, checkbook, Capri Sun and Juicy Juice drinks from the refrigerator were stolen.

He stole juice boxes, he stole my naked husband at 5 AM, he stole 3 nights of sleep from me. I hope he poops from his mouth sometime today.

My week's positive:

Look at my beautiful daughter who had her pictures taken for Spring!

All photos are by Sweetberry Photography

Also, what could be a negative for most is a positive for me! We found a cute babygirl snake in our backyard who hopefully doesn't have rabies!

We let him go in the field and we have missed him every day since. Come back, John Lennon The Snake!

In closing....you know how ricidulous Good Son Adrian is. When I brought their dinner to the table last night, he said

"Oh my. It's like you're a special, pretty, butler or something"

This kindness and sweetness was taken advantage of a few hours later, when his sister, who is 5 years younger and 5 years smaller than him, tortured him in the tub while he was crying and saying, "Please, Please stop, Ellis. Please. Wahhhh."

Enjoy my post about nothing....hopefully I'll have something fun to write about soon.

P.s. I'm having an extraordinarily incredible hairday today (on a gross rainy day, nonetheless) so I had to post a picture. Then, to counteract the awfulness of posting a pretty picture of myself, I also graced you with a picture I accidentally took of myself when the camera was backwards. It's the worst picture of me in existence. Enjoy the self esteem ride you're about to take.

Samantha Brick Vs. Mary

2012-04-05T15:55:00.000-05:00

Read the original article here

Meet Sam. She's real sad because she's so pretty.

I am going to do everyone a favor. Since she has pissed so many people off simply by being completely average and delusional I am going to help decipher a few excerpts of this article.

In Samantha's words:

On a recent flight to New York, I was delighted when a stewardess came over and gave me a bottle of champagne.

‘This is from the captain — he wants to welcome you on board and hopes you have a great flight today,’ she explained.

You’re probably thinking ‘what a lovely surprise’. But while it was lovely, it wasn’t a surprise. At least, not for me.

In Mary's words:

On a flight 18 years ago to somewhere in Britain where everyone is below average, I was happy when a stewardess came over and gave me bottle of Ozarka.

'This is from the Captain - he wants to welcome you and all the other 127 passengers on this flight on board! Do you have a child with you that would like a paper pilot's hat?'

You're probably thinking "who gives a damn...I get free water on a daily basis from my bank lobby". While I do give a damn, I also expected it because I am delusional about my awkwardly shaped inward teeth and my totally average 41 year-old body.

In Samantha's words:

I’m not smug and I’m no flirt, yet over the years I’ve been dropped by countless friends who felt threatened if I was merely in the presence of their other halves. If their partners dared to actually talk to me, a sudden chill would descend on the room.

In Mary's words:

I have no friends because everyone hates me because I'm awful.

I have no idea why, after meeting a new friend's husband, she was so annoyed by my honesty. "Your husband totally wants me and I'm sorry", I told her. I even had tears in my eyes of sympathy towards her averageness and her husband's boner for me. When she looked at me perplexed and laughed, I kept my eyes solid and serious. "Wait, are you bloody serious?", She said. I know she was questioning me because she thinks I'm fucking gorgeous.

In Samantha's words:

Take last week, out walking the dogs a neighbour passed by in her car. I waved — she blatantly blanked me. Yet this is someone whose sons have stayed at my house, and who has been welcomed into my home on countless occasions.

In Mary's words:

Last week, I was out walking the dogs when a neighBOR passed by in her car. I waved and she blanked me. I think blanked me means ignore me. Yet, this is someone whose sons I have tried to show my naked modelling pictures to when they stayed at my house.

In Samantha's words:

Take last summer and a birthday party I attended with my husband. At one point the host, who was celebrating his 50th, decided he wanted a photo with all the women guests. Positioning us, the photographer suggested I stand immediately to his right for the shot.

Another woman I barely knew pushed me out of the way, shouting it wasn’t fair on all the other women if I was dominating the snap. I was devastated and burst into tears. On my own in the loos one woman privately consoled me — well out of ear-shot of her girlfriends.

In Mary's words:

Last summer at a birthday party I hadn't been wanted at, the host wanted a picture with all the ladies so he'd look big pimpin at his 50th birthday. I stood in the front, next to the host with my hand on my non existent and and non-flat waist. Since I'm 7 feet tall the other women were upset that I was "blocking" a few "other women". When I started bawling that I couldn't be in the front, some concerned girl locked me in the bathroom to keep me from having a breakdown. My husband left me at the party with one of the younger girls that were okay being in the back of the picture. The only reason he did that is because I'm so damn good looking.

In Samantha's closing:

So now I’m 41 and probably one of very few women entering her fifth decade welcoming the decline of my looks. I can’t wait for the wrinkles and the grey hair that will help me blend into the background

In Mary's closing words:

It is completely impossible for me to have written an entire article about how beautiful I am certain I am and still be okay with being old and decrepit. My husband is getting really tired of me complaining about being so pretty. I died my hair blonder for my interviews on TV after my article. Did I mention that my teeth are really awkward and weird? I already have wrinkles and I would have no trouble blending into the background now because I'M TOTALLY AVERAGE.

It should also be noted that I have not gotten ahead in the world of friends and work because I am an unapproachable cockroach of an arrogant woman. Who needs to pass my magic mirror on to Mary and let her have the unrealistic self-esteem ride of the century.

I used to play with them...

2012-03-23T13:49:00.001-05:00

"She used to play with us."

Said little Lily who lives next door. Beautiful little black girl whose family comes from Kenya. She has long black braids that reach the lowest part of her back, and long skinny twig legs that she uses to pedal bikes she's stolen.

Her family has always disturbed me but I try my hardest not to be judgmental when they would talk to me about their life choices.

"Oh, your Dad has 4 sister wives? That's neat."

There are no less than six kids that live in that house. They all have different moms who take turns either staying at the house, or at an apartment when they aren't all getting along.

"Hey Ishmal, I haven't seen your uhhhh...sister? Is she your sister kinda? Anyway I haven't seen Lily in a while."

"Lily and her Mom don't like the lady of the house so they stay at an apartment so she can have some space."

The few times I have seen a woman outside of the boundaries of the front door, which they leave open, she has pretty much sprinted from me. I tried to make conversation with one, since she was sitting on my driveway uninvited when I came out to take out the trash.

"Hi! How are you? I just made some cookies, do your kids want some?"

She gives me a look of terror and judgement at my cleavage, then says, "Dinosaur. In street"

I look out into the street for a stegosaurus and see her unsupervised kids, wearing shorts and boots without laces in the heat of summer, poking something lifeless in the middle of the street with a rake.

I drop the trash and run out there to save it, whatever it is.

"Ishmael, Lily, Franchuk, Kid whose name I don't know, Shoeless, get back. Move out the way. GET THE FUCK OUT OF THE WAY."

It was a horny toad. A horny toad with a couple of rake holes in it.

"You guys need to not kill small animals because that is not nice. Here's a dirty spiderman ball I found in my garage. Why don't you kick it around in your own yard and leave it in my yard when you're done."

These kids need guidance. Always. They range in age from 2-9 and never have an adult around. They crave adult attention so much that it breaks my heart and makes husband with one T want to move.

They have no boundaries. I'll pull into my garage and hit one of them on the head with my car door because they come on in and wait for me to get out. If I try to take the kids into the front yard, they immediately show up and what was supposed to be a leisurely play in the front yard leads to me babysitting uncountable kids.

"Get your foot out of our pond"

"Get out of our garden."

"yes it's an Iphone, put it down. I just wiki'd something inappropriate."

"I WILL CUT YOU IF YOU DON'T GET OFF MY HUSBAND'S MONDO GRASS"

Adrian asked them about the fact that they all have the same dad and different moms. One kid that's only there 1/6th of the time responded matter-of-factly with:

"I think my other Dad's dead"

When Adrian's eyes got as big as saucers, the kid looked at him like, "what the hell's the big deal with a dead Dad?"

Adrian walked over to me and sat me down to talk. It didn't last 6 words.

"I.never.want.daddy. to.....to.... to..... WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"

"Okay kids whichever one of your Dad's died, I'm sorry. Get off of my table and give Ellis back her shoes and go home."

Some days I would be in an extra giving mood and I would treat them like my own. I sat in the driveway with Ishmal and talked with him for 45 minutes about how hard it is to take care of the 2 year old sister(ish). I gave him a capri sun and played four square with them for 2 hours. I sang with Lily when she helped me vacuum out my car. I let them feed our fish. I gave them both the bikes that Adrian had outgrown and secretly left Ishmal a pair of new shoes because his toes were poking out the front of his other ones. (Even though I said I wouldn't. Sorry Husband with one T, if you read this) Anytime I make cookies or cakeballs, I tell Adrian to take some over to them. I've never once heard a thank you from any of them. Or their parents (maybe parents isn't the right word).

I get it that they're moderately annoying, rude, and inconsiderate but I really started to understand their evil when their Grandmother was there visiting from Kenya for the summer.

She didn't speak or look at me but sat in the garage all day sweating profusely and wearing more clothes than should be allowed in Saskatchewan, much less 110 degree heat in Oklahoma. She was terrified of everything. Which doesn't make sense to me because she LIVES IN KENYA. You're going to be scared of my guinea pig and some silly putty when you get malaria and lion bites on an annual basis?

She was watching another baby I have only rarely seen there, who is around 18 months or so. Her identity and relation to the homeowner are unsurprisingly unknown. The baby wandered out to see me when I checked the mail. I picked her up in the middle of the street and walked her back to the garage. Grandma looked at me like I had a machete and I tried to look kind and nice as I set the child back in the garage and pointed to the road. "Baby Hanna was in the street". She rubbed some sweat out of her eyes and spoke to Hanna in their language. Hanna kicked her in the shin and ran back out into the street. Grandma did nothing so I went to get her and at that moment the rest of the kids meandered back into the yard to play with my pitbull. Grandma saw Sable the pitbull and started bawling, shaking, and heaving. She was begging her kids to come in the garage, away from the animal. (Who, keep in mind, didn't even bark or get off the couch when someone broke into our house while we were sleeping.)

I was trying to tell the kids to go and comfort her and I would take the dog inside but they just laughed and laughed and yelled and teased the Grandma.

They went and got her out of the garage and dragged her kicking and screaming to my dog, who was now a shivering puddle of confusion. I screamed at them to leave her alone and let her go and ended up pushing them off of her and taking her back to the garage while trying to assure her in a language she didn't understand that the dog was harmless and I was sorry for scaring her and that I wasn't a raper.

Back to the beginning. Why "She used to play with us" was said:

We walked to the park in our neighborhood the first nice day we had this year. Adrian rode his bike and Ellis and I walked with our dog, Charlie. (yorkie, not pitbull). Of course there were 12 unsupervised kids playing at the pond when we got there, including the neighbors. Lily told me she loved my hair and sat next to me to play with Charlie. When Ellis ran back over to make sure I wasn't being attacked Lily hugged her too hard and knocked her down. So I grabbed Lily back by the back of the hair and rubbed her face in the gravel.

Not really, but I wish. Lily was oblivious to what happened and ran back to the dock. I saw one of her brothers holding a toy gun and pointing it at another kid, telling him to jump in the nasty disgusting pond or he would shoot him. The kid jumped, crying. A three year old brother was standing in the pond, in what appeared to be brand new shoes. Another couple of kids were in the trees by the pond along with Ishmal and I could smell more evil. Adrian was begging me not to intervene and to just let him play at the park with Ellis.

A 13 year old girl ran by crying and screaming she was gonna call the police. She was pretty and normal and I felt compelled to be on her side.

Lily ran back over and said (I swear) "YOU DON'T CALL THE POPO. YOU DON'T CALL THE POPO. THEY'RE JUST EGGS."

I asked Lily what she was talking about and she said they had broken some duck eggs they found in the nest and what was the big deal.

The 13 year old normal girl said they had done it before and her mom had bought her an incubator and she was able to save one of the chicks and released him back into the pond. But they had broken these eggs too early and she couldn't do anything to save them. She was bawling. She asked to use my cell phone to call her mother, who just happened to be the President of the homeowners association. At this point, Adrian was done. He gave me the look that said, "Fuck being nice, Mom. Give it to em"

I felt like I was in the middle of a made for TV Disney movie starring Debbie Ryan as the pretty young child egg doctor who would change the ways of her neighborhood and they would end the movie by playing soccer and doing a synchronized dance with the Kenyan terrors to a song entitled "We're All Here in America to Make Everything Better!".

But I'm Courtney Love in this situation and I don't belong in a damn TV movie and these kids were going to suffer through my judgment.

"LISTEN HERE, ALL SEVENTEEN OF YOU. YOU'RE ALL HORRIBLE KIDS. HORRIBLE HORRIBLE HORRIBLE KIDS. PUT THAT GUN AWAY AND DON'T BRING IT OUT AGAIN OR I SWEAR TO GOD I WILL DRAG YOUR UGLY LITTLE ASS TO YOUR MOMS HOUSE AND IF SHE DOESN'T DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT THEN I WILL. AND YOU DON'T WANNA SEE WHAT I'LL DO. STEP AWAY FROM THE TREE AND AWAY FROM THE NEST AND IF I SEE YOU WALK IN THAT DIRECTION I SWEAR ON EVERYTHING THAT IS HOLY I WILL TAKE YOU TO THE POLICE STATION AND THEY WILL PUT YOU IN KOREAN JAIL...................................................................................WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE? HOW CAN YOU ALL BE SO HORRIBLE TO USE GUNS TO FORCE KIDS INTO THE WATER AND TO KILL BABY EGGS AND TO MAKE THIS GIRL CRY. I HATE ALL OF YOU. IIIIIIIIIIII HHHHHAHAAAAAAAATTTTTTTTTEEEEEEEEE ALLLLLLLLL OOOOOFFFFFFFFF YOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUUUU GOOOOOOOO HOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMEEEEEE. I'M FOLLOWING ALL OF YOU HOME RIGHT NOW. GO. YOU'RE ALL AWFUL"

By the time I finished screaming incoherently at them, it was awkwardly silent. The kid with the gun stuffed it into his sweaty sweatpants and muttered that he was going "to put it away anyway". The kid who had been bullied into jumping into the pond whispered to me that he was okay and it was all going to be okay.

Lily and Ishmal looked at me like I had just broken our alliance and was now loyal to Kony.

Nobody was moving so I yelled at them again to GO.

Then I put on my batman backpack and grabbed my yorkie and followed them home like the badass that I am.

and that's why I don't "play with you anymore", Lily.

Five things I wish I didn't love so much.

2012-03-19T16:43:00.001-05:00

1. The peppermints that my receptionist has at her desk.

I know for a fact I have multiple untreated cavities in my sad little mouth. For the most part, it ain't no thang. If I get a snack from Sonic and they put that shitty little starlight mint in the bag, I can laugh at their presumptuousness and then kick the carhop in the mouth. But if you give me an IHOP mint, or any other mint that has that sugary melty feature, I cave. I hope you know what I mean by the melty feature. Then I crunch on it and let the melty minty feelings soak into the holes of decay in my teeth and give me cheek aches for the rest of the day. It's like loving a man who starts out making sweet love to you but abruptly stops and starts giving you paper cuts on the webbing of your fingers instead.

2. Tuna.

OMG I want this shirt

Tuna and miracle whip and wheat thins are a delicious snack. But I don't eat them in front of ANYONE. Especially not someone who is physically attracted to me. Like, my husband. Hopefully. In fact, when he got home unannounced early one day and I had a bowl and was going to town on some stinky fish mash, I felt like I had gotten caught with two underage hookers. I tried to garbage disposal up the bowl and immediately brushed my teeth of the evidence. Why can classy girls eat salmon but not tuna mashed up with mayonnaise? It's so delicious but so unbelievably disgusting. The few times I have eaten it outside of my parents' house (they don't count because they love me no matter how much vagina-smelling food I eat) I have just thrown the bowl immediately in the dumpster because it's not even worth cleaning up.

3. The Bad Girls Club on Oxygen.

All Reality TV is pretty humiliating to admit to loving. But the Bad Girls Club is on a whole new level of kill yourself. There is absolutely no point to the show. There's no challenge and no prize. There is no popularity contest or voting anybody off. It's a bunch of train wreck trashy girls who drink until they throw up and end the night by either making out with each other or pulling out a weave. I never watch it the night it comes on, but I do DVR it so I can justify it later in the week when there's "nothing else on." Really, Mary? Why don't you watch a parenting DVD or a documentary on polar bears? Contribute something to the world other than yelling "Awwwww that's a bad bitch right there!"

4. Wikipedia.

This is what is making my face look like it belongs on a sharpei on Medicare. I stay up late every night wikiing. I just made up that word. Feel free to use it if you'd like. I start with the random front page article, then I click on blue words to learn more about things like cork and the Sentinalese. Then most of the things I read I get excited about, but can't recall them the next day because I take sleeping pills and don't remember anything from 8 PM on. Which ends up being rough on my world since I don't actually go to sleep until midnight. Click here if you forgot about my ambien mishaps.

5. The smell of Laundry Detergent and fabric softener.

I have realized this problem in the last month. Somehow, in my old age, I have grown to detest anything that doesn't smell like laundry detergent. I hate floral scents and fruity stuff. It just makes me think of bees, seriously. A guy I work with told me I always smell like fresh laundry and it makes him think of his mom's laundry room. I was like, "eh ok"; That's not really an insult but not really the compliment you want to hear. My friend Kendal had alcohol one night, (hahahaha) and leaned on me and told me I smelled like cotton. Does a woman want to smell like cotton? I think that's almost the least sexiest thing a woman can smell like, only after a puppy. The final straw was when I had onions in my lunch so I turned on my scentsy burner in my office and had two people call and ask why it smelled like laundry in the hallway. My body wash, perfume, shampoo, deodorant, lotion, and air freshener all had something to do with a breeze or a fabric. I am vowing to smell more like a woman and less like Timmy's mother in Lassie.